


Finding Home

by Luana Araceli (Luana_Araceli)



Series: Familial Bonds [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: BDSM, Discipline, Dominance, M/M, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Punishment, Sire/Childe, Submission, Total Power Exchange, Vampires, Whipping, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-30
Updated: 2011-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luana_Araceli/pseuds/Luana%20Araceli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel finds Spike about to commit suicide and pulls him away from the brink by invoking Sire's rights. He offers him a home and a chance to prove himself, something Spike has been aching for for over a century.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Angel stood on the roof of an abandoned skyscraper, looking up at the stars but not really seeing them as he considered everything that had happened recently. Doyle was gone, heroically sacrificing himself for the greater good. And Cordelia, the woman who had inherited his visions, was slowly dying because she lacked the demon blood to ease the pain of the visions. Wesley had withdrawn into a former shell of himself, stuck perpetually in a book and only venturing out to share information about a case. Gunn was anyone’s guess, these days. He was almost always gone, unless they were hunting, and he seemed haunted. And by the heavy smell of alcohol, drinking was his comfort of choice. 

Angel sighed as he thought about all of it. Some days he missed his past life, soulless and carefree. He missed his blood family, too, because humans didn’t always cut it. Doyle had been his closest friend because the man had understood both the good and the bad of having a human side—or in Angel’s case, a soul that forced him to embrace humanity or suffer the consequences. Guilt wasn’t unfamiliar territory, and he blamed himself harshly for allowing Doyle to come to harm. And for Cordelia, who was dying, despite their best efforts to prevent it. For all of his human family, really, because they were falling apart and he didn’t know how to keep them together. Not really. Not the way he’d known how to keep a vampire family from falling apart, that’s for sure. When he’d been Angelus, he’d ruled with an iron fist and things weren’t allowed to go wrong. That wouldn’t work with humans; they required a softer touch. 

He sighed again, shifting his weight and lifting his face up to the sky. A light breeze greeted him and he closed his eyes in pleasure, wishing he had more time to spend with himself. By nature, he was a solitary creature, and the hours of enforced company were nearly painful for him. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his humans—he did, a lot—but he enjoyed being alone with his own thoughts. Something his humans ridiculed him for, but they just didn’t understand the appeal. After centuries of living, a little reflection time wasn’t that much to ask. 

Inevitably, his mind turned to his blood family. Angel loved his humans, but he missed his true family, the one that would embrace him in all his moods and aspects and not assume he was going crazy for smiling. Darla would’ve loved the city. She was cruel, probably the cruelest vampire he’d ever known, but she was his sire. She taught him everything and sometimes he missed her guidance. She would’ve known how to keep the humans together, been able to patch everything he’d messed up, even if his mistakes were well-intentioned. And Drusilla—Dru to all of them—her playful nature and mysterious abilities always astounded him. A lot of people thought she was insane, even Darla occasionally believed that, but Angel knew better. Her crazy was just an act she put on to keep people at a distance. But she’d let him close. And she’d let William closer. Spike. Thinking about him sent a pang through Angel, though he wasn’t sure whether it was guilt or pain. William was the most precious of his Childer, always endearing and eager to please. And then Spike had taken over when Angelus disappeared. Spike, all edges and rough talk and it pained Angel to know that he had put that there. But the one thing about William—Spike—that stayed consistent was his desire to please, to be loved, which was why he stayed with Dru until she left him behind, and even why he’d sought Angel out to demonstrate his capabilities as a vampire. 

Angel closed his eyes hard, trying to hold the memories at bay. He didn’t want to remember all the good things about Spike. The last time Spike and Angel met, the blonde had driven a hot poker through Angel’s side. An offense, in the vampire community, that demanded a punishment as close to death as possible, if not death outright. That was one thing Angel couldn’t do though. Killing Spike was never—and would never be—an option. Despite the blonde’s punk bravado, there was still a lost Childe in there, wishing desperately for his Sire’s approval. And he was still Angel’s favored; that fact couldn’t be avoided. Angel could never harm him. He loved him. The closet he’d come to punishing Spike was ordering him out of L.A., never allowed to return. In fact, he’d given him that order earlier that night. So it wasn’t too surprising that Angel couldn’t get the blonde out of his thoughts. 

A noise, one he almost dismissed as wind, came from a few feet behind him. Angel turned, expecting to see a bird or a cat or nothing at all, and came face to face with the man of his thoughts. “Spike.” 

 

The blonde shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. He took a cigarette out of his leather duster and lit up, walking over to the edge of the balcony beside Angel. He took a long drag and turned to face the older vampire. “Peaches.”

That nickname. He loved it, but only secretly. Openly, he seethed at being called such a thing by a man who used to jump to do his biding. “I thought I told you to leave the city.” 

Spike shrugged his shoulders. “Aye.” 

“So why are you still here?” 

The blonde blinked, and then flicked his ashes over the side of the roof. “I didn’t know you meant immediately. No harm in me being here one more night, is there, Peaches?” 

“You really like to push your limits with me, don’t you, Spike?” 

“Used to be a time you pushed them for me.” 

Angel blinked at that. Spike never brought up the past. Never. Unless it was the bad parts and then he only ever brought it up to rub it in Angel’s face. “That was then. This is now.” His tone was harsh, harder than he’d intended. 

Spike, as usual, didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Aye.” 

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t force you out of my city.” 

The blonde paused at that, and it took Angel a full minute to realize Spike’s hand was trembling. At first, he thought it was due to anger, but since his Childe made no move to fight, he gradually came to the understanding that it was fear. 

“Well? You’ve got about two minutes before I use it anyway, just to get you out of my hair.” 

Spike took a deep breath at that. “I just want one last night, Sire. To etch this city and you in my mind, since you’re banning me from it. Please.” 

It wasn’t so much the please as Spike’s use of his title that decided him. Spike hadn’t called him Sire in nearly a century—not him as Angel, anyway. If he was using the title now, then he was being truly sincere. “All right,” he said after a moment. “I’ll give you your last night, Spike. But then I don’t want to see you in my city again.” 

“Aye. Ta’ Peaches.” 

And then the sincere Spike just disappeared. He was back to the English phrases and name calling that irritated and amused Angel on a level he himself didn’t understand. Part of him itched to take the younger vampire to task, but part of him itched for something else. Something darker—something forbidden him. 

“Don’t stay out here much longer,” Angel said as he turned to leave. “Sun will be up in an hour.” 

Spike smiled bitterly. “Aye. That’s what I’m counting on.” 

Angel frowned. Surely, Spike wasn’t going to… “You’re not thinking of doing something stupid, are you Spike?” 

The blonde laughed. “Always thinking of doing something stupid, Angel. You should know that by now.” 

Angel snorted. That was certainly true of Spike, but—“Okay. Then come down with me. We can hole up in this building for the day.” 

“Thought you wanted me out of your city, out of your life.” 

“What does that have to do with waiting out the day in a dark building?” 

“Everything, actually,” Spike said, tired of hiding. He’d been hiding himself ever since Angelus had become Angel and he was tired of it all. His Sire was here, now, and Spike had a chance to tell him the truth, and the words came spilling out of him. “I’m tired of this, Angel. I’m tired of having every person I love break me in two. I’m done with it. First Drusilla, then Buffy. And you, of course. You have the market cornered on that one, but that doesn’t matter much. I can’t stop loving you even though I’ve done my best to forget it. So I’m forgetting it the only way I can—permanently.” 

Angel’s head was sent reeling. Spike was going to kill himself? Spike? The man who had driven a hot poker into his side to get the gem of amara? The man who had no qualms going after his leftovers? The man who everyone hated because he was such an ass to all of them? And then clarity struck. Spike was a persona; a mask. The man who was going to commit suicide was William. The man who had followed Drusilla despite all her cruelties and petty games; the man who tried to teach Buffy to cope with the darkness that came back with her when she came back to life; the man who used sarcasm as a defense mechanism, because he was too sensitive to be open. 

“No,” he said simply. 

“What?” Spike said, his head whipping around, the look on his face only describable as stunned. 

“No,” Angel repeated. “You are not killing yourself.” 

Spike snorted. “Yeah? You gonna stop me?” 

“That’s the plan.” 

“Why do you even care?” 

It was Angel’s turn to be stunned. “What do you mean, why do I care? You’re my Childe, William. I will always care.” 

“It’s Spike.” His tone was petulant, childish, like he was trying to cling to something and even he didn’t understand what it was.

“If I want to call you William, Childe, I will. You have no say over me. Understand?” Angel closed the distance between the two of them quickly, grabbing Spike by the shoulders and gripping hard. He didn’t shake, not yet. 

Spike hated that he loved the feeling of the man holding his shoulders and anger coursed through him. Angel had no right to address him like that. The man had given up his claim on Spike nearly a century ago when he’d walked away. Spike grabbed Angel’s wrists and forced the other man away from him. He would fight this out, like he’d fought it out with Angel every other time. And he’d win, because—

And then, Angel did something he hadn’t done in nearly a century. “William, you will obey me. Stop struggling.” 

The tone; the insufferable tone that made it impossible for Spike to do anything but obey. Spike could be angry, was angry, but he couldn’t disobey that tone. Sire’s Voice. It was deceptively quiet, but incredibly powerful. His arms stopped moving of their own accord and he glared at his Sire for all he was worth. 

“I’m tired of fighting you, Spike. No matter where I go, you always find me. No matter what you do, somehow you manage to make it seem less than it is. I’m tired of running from you. And I do not want you to kill yourself. Not because of me. Not because of anyone. So we’re going to go into this building and wait out the day, and you’re going to talk to me properly. Not like a renegade vampire, but as a Childe speaks to his Sire. And then, after that, if you still want to greet the sun, I’ll allow it.” 

Spike scowled. “And since when do you give a damn about me anyway? I might be tied to you by blood, but you never once came and helped me when I was in trouble. You never once congratulated me on a job well done. And now, here we are, and you’re telling me to talk to you. Like it all never happened?” He scoffed. “I refuse.” 

Angel smiled a slow, feral smile. “Let me tell you a little something, Spike. I may have a soul now and have a human family, but that does not make me soft. You will not refuse me my rights as your Sire. I’m sure you remember better than me my methods.” 

“Like you’d use them now,” Spike said, but it was tempered with uncertainty. “Why the sudden change of heart? Used to, you’d never embrace any part of your vampire half.” 

“Because, Spike, I understand the curse better now. And the soul is permanent; it’s no longer a curse. And I have to embrace both halves of who I am to do the most good. Any more questions?” 

“Just one.” 

Angel arched an eyebrow. 

“How exactly are you planning to get me off this roof?” 

“Oh, that’s easy. I’m going to tell you to follow me. And you’re going to follow me. Because, if you don’t, I’ll resort to Sire’s Voice, and if I have to do that, well. I’m sure you remember how that goes.” 

Spike swallowed hard, sweat breaking out on his forehead. Oh yeah, he definitely remembered. And suddenly, he really didn’t want to be here, on this roof, about to commit suicide. He just wanted to be what he’d always been—a scared and confused English gentleman who fell in love with the vampire that turned him. Somehow, being William again didn’t seem so bad. 

“Follow me,” Angel said. 

To no one’s surprise, Spike did just that. 

They walked into the building and rode the elevator all the way down to the basement level, an area completely devoid of windows and sunlight. 

Angel stared at the man standing in front of him, wondering what had happened in the years since he’d last seen him to make him so bitter. But that wasn’t what worried him. He was surprised that he hadn’t hesitated before slipping into full Sire mode. That wasn’t normal behavior for him, as Spike himself had indicated, but Angel was starting to learn that some instincts went deeper than his human soul. And one of those instincts was to dominate, to claim, to mark William—Spike—as his own the way he had so many years ago. Especially since the vampire was considering meeting the sun, a pretty horrible way to go about it when he could just ask a slayer or her friends to stake him. Meeting the sun was a punishment only given to the vampires who somehow managed to kill their Sires—a punishment Angel was exempt from only because Darla had come back to life and she’d forbidden it. 

“Explain why you thought death was your only option.” 

“That one’s easy. The Slayerettes don’t want anything to do with me, you sent me away, and Dru is somewhere she doesn’t want to be found. And I don’t do being alone well. So death seemed like a good idea.” 

“You could have told me.” 

Spike snorted. “Oh yeah, pull the other leg, mate. You don’t tell someone whose told you to get out, ‘Oh and by the way I’m going to off myself,’ because then they feel pity and take you in or guilt when you do it that they didn’t. I’m not stupid. I didn’t even expect you to be up on the roof. This building just has the best view of the city and I wanted one last perfect picture in my head before I went.” 

“What are the rules about suicide, William?” 

“What?” 

“The rules.” 

Spike winced. That was Angel’s ‘don’t make me repeat myself’ tone. “If I want to die, I have to ask my Sire’s permission first. I didn’t honestly think you’d say no, though.” 

“So, even though I beat the rules into you day and night for nearly a century, you were planning on disobeying one of them.” 

Something in Spike’s belly flip-flopped. “Well, when you put it like that, it seems a bit ridiculous.” 

“Yeah, it does. First time I’ve ever been able to say truthfully that I’m disappointed in you.” 

Spike laughed hollowly, but inside he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. While Angel had never said he was proud of him, his Sire had never been disappointed before. “Well, if the shoe fits,” he said, the words ringing hollowly in his own ears. 

“You think you’re a disappointment to me, William? Why?” 

“Why? Did you really just ask me why?” 

“Yes, I did. Are you going to make me repeat the question?” 

“No, Sire.” The idea terrified him. “I spent years following you, after you left us; after you were cursed. I didn’t realize you’d been cursed at first, and I kept trying to do things to impress you, to get you to let me join you. But nothing worked. And every time I tried, I saw revulsion in your eyes. Revulsion for the skills and the arts you taught me. But you never explained anything to me. I would’ve followed you to the ends of the earth—hell, I have—and you never stopped to think how much it was hurting me to be shut out of your life.” 

“Could you have stopped killing, Spike? Could you have done without the carnage, the bloodlust?” 

Spike laughed bitterly. “You’re forgetting something, Sire. It wasn’t me who needed a soul to stop killing. I was never really all that evil to begin with. You had to beat it into me. A way to live without killing—at that point, I would have jumped at it—but all you saw was what you made me: a cold-blooded killer carving his name onto the history pages.” 

“So,” Angel said. “The gist of it is that if you can’t have me, you don’t want to live.” 

Spike wanted to retort, to tell his Sire not to be so full of himself. But he couldn’t, because it was the truth. It was all he’d ever wanted. Being by his Sire’s side, no matter what it meant, would mean everything to him. “Aye,” he said, softly. 

“Okay.” 

“What?” 

“I said, okay. You can stay in the city. You will live in the hotel with me and will go nowhere without my express permission. Consider yourself a fledgling; because in this kind of life, a life with humans and rules and structure—this is new territory for you.” 

“And when I screw up?” 

Angel shrugged. “You’re my Childe. I’ll deal with it.” 

“I don’t like the sound of that.” 

Angel smiled. “These are your choices, Spike. You can leave the city and go back to the Slayer and her friends and help them in Sunnydale. Or you can stay in L.A. with me and abide by my rules. Maybe even help solve cases, if you can prove yourself to me.”

Spike blinked at that. “You’re giving me a chance to prove my worth?” 

“And in a way I’ll appreciate. I’m not running away from you anymore. You want to be part of my world. Fine. Prove to me you can handle it.” 

“And if I can?” 

Angel grinned. “If you can, well, we’ll see.” 

That decided Spike. His Sire was giving him another chance; a true chance. Despite all the pain and heartache he’d felt chasing after a shadow, here was the chance to make it all right; to prove for once and for all why he had been the favored. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll stay.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel finds Spike about to commit suicide and pulls him away from the brink by invoking Sire's rights. He offers him a home and a chance to prove himself, something Spike has been aching for for over a century.

**Chapter Two**

Angel didn’t know what he was going to do with his wayward Childe. He’d saved him from self-destructing, in a quite literal sense, but to find a place for him in his life, in his home…there was a challenge there Angel wasn’t quite sure he was ready to meet. His primary concern, for now, was to keep Spike alive; to prevent him from slipping away and into the sun, despite the fact he’d forbidden the younger vampire from doing so. William had been an obedient Childe, always doing everything in his power to prove he was worth Angelus’ attention. Spike, on the other hand, was a bit of an enigma to Angel. He knew that Spike was just a persona, a mask William had adopted to keep the world at bay, but he also knew that it was impossible to keep from taking on some of a persona’s characteristics, even if only incidentally. In simpler terms, he wasn’t sure just how much William still resided behind the mask of Spike. 

“Peaches, I’m not going to run off into the sun. I don’t need to be on suicide watch.” 

Angel frowned. “Not even an hour ago you were singing a different tune.” 

Spike snorted. “Yeah, but an hour ago I didn’t have the option to stay with you.” 

His frown softened. “Does it really mean so much to you?” 

Spike shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, making no move to reply. It did, but he didn’t think he could explain it to Angel. All the years he’d spent as a vampire, the only thing he’d ever wanted was his Sire by his side, consequences be damned. Nothing mattered more. He couldn’t answer, not with words, but he nodded once in assent. Angel frustrated him more than words could say because he wanted his Sire. And for a long time, Spike had been unable to admit that Angel and Angelus were the same man. But the time he’d spent helping the Slayerettes had taught him that everyone had a light and dark side, and he could admit to himself now that Angel was his Sire. Not a shadow, but the man Angelus had been before the demon took over. 

Angel saw how pained William became at the question. Spike, he repeated firmly in his mind. The younger vampire was a master in his own right and Spike was his chosen name. And Angel didn’t know if he could honestly call Spike William without getting lost in memories of a man who no longer existed. At least, not in the way he remembered him. “Okay,” he said. “Get some sleep. This building doesn’t connect to the underground tunnels, so we’re stuck here for the day.” 

Spike’s face etched in disgust. “We have to stay here? This place isn’t exactly clean.” 

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” Angel added dryly. He wasn’t too pleased about their circumstances, either. The skyscraper was an abandoned building, and the walls of the basement were covered with dust and cobwebs as was the floor and ceiling. Nothing had disturbed the place in a very long time, save for a few rats and the two of them. 

Spike didn’t add anything else. His next few actions surprised Angel, but the elder vampire didn’t comment. The blonde started clearing off the floor with his bare hands and piling the mess he gathered in a small pile in one of the corners of the room. He took off his duster and handed it to Angel, who took it silently. Spike removed his shirt, allowing Angel to drink his fill of the lithe body, and began running it along the floor until there was a large enough area clear of dust and cobwebs for a man to lie comfortably. He took his duster back and laid it along the length of the clean area. 

Watching all this, Angel could feel a bit of anger start to rise up, because Spike, as usual, was thinking only of himself. He wanted to demand an explanation, a reason for his Childe’s impertinence, but he stopped himself when he saw what the blonde was doing. 

Spike took his shirt and cleared off another man-sized area of dust and cobwebs and tossed it to the side. Instead of curling up on his jacket, which was what Angel expected the younger vampire to do, Spike curled up, shirtless, on the cold floor. He turned to Angel. “Well? Aren’t you going to sleep?” 

Angel’s lips quirked and he settled comfortably on Spike’s duster. Why had he ever thought Spike could be selfish? The man might be brash and obnoxious, but he had been Angel’s favored because of his selflessness in regards to his Sire. It seemed like that, at least, hadn’t changed. Angel felt possessiveness surge through him, as well as gratitude and appreciation for the man beside him. Acting on impulse, he pulled off his own shirt. “Spike,” he said, addressing the man’s back. 

“Hmm?” 

Angel rolled his eyes. Trust Spike to be half-asleep even on an icy floor. “Sit up, put this on.” He waited until the blonde was sitting and handed him his shirt. He started to make a remark about how insufferable Spike was, but the look in his Childe’s eyes took him off guard. 

Spike eyed the shirt his Sire handed him with awe, nearly reverent. In all the years he could remember, Angel had never allowed him to touch his clothing. And here he was, willfully handing him a shirt. “Ta mate,” he said, trying to conceal how touched he truly was. 

“Stop staring at it and put it on already.” 

Spike tore his eyes away from the shirt and refocused them on Angel. It took him a few seconds to process what had been said and he pulled the shirt on eagerly when he realized what his Sire wanted. 

Angel shook his head in fond exasperation. Only Spike would make a big deal out of being given a shirt to sleep in. “Go to sleep.” 

He needn’t have bothered. In the few seconds it took him to say the words, Spike’s snores filled the room. Angel lay down, bemused, and fell asleep himself. 

Spike woke before his Sire, which wasn’t too surprising since waking before Angelus had been a survival instinct for years. One he hadn’t been able to rid himself of, despite trying. He spent some time just drinking in his Sire’s form. In sleep, his true face showed, and Spike could count the ridges on Angel’s forehead. He longed to touch them, to trace his fingers over them, but doing so would wake the elder vampire. Not to mention, doing so without permission was forbidden. Touching him at all without permission was also forbidden, but it didn’t stop Spike from wanting to. His Sire was curled on his side, facing Spike, statuesque in his stillness. That stillness used to scare him when he was still a fledging and hadn’t understood that vampires didn’t need to breathe. Now, though, just drinking in his Sire’s presence was more than enough. Spike grinned as he absently fiddled with the end of a shirt a couple sizes too big for him, ecstatic that he’d been allowed to wear it. 

Just as he was about to start drinking his fill of Angel’s chest, the elder vampire woke up. It was never a gradual awakening—he went from asleep to awake instantly. “Morning, Spike.” 

Spike scowled. “It’s about time you were up. You sleep too bloody long.” He wished his Sire had slept just a little longer, but he wasn’t about to say that to his Sire. 

“Give me my shirt. We need to get going.” 

Hurt flashed through Spike’s eyes, but he masked it quickly and removed the shirt, handing it silently to Angel, who slipped it on. 

“You can have the shirt back when we get to the hotel. I don’t want Cordelia and Wesley to see me half-dressed.” Angel had seen the hurt in his Childe’s eyes and understood what caused it, even if he didn’t quite get why him wanting his shirt was painful for Spike. 

Spike grinned. “Ta mate. Can I have my duster back?” 

Angel blinked. He was asking permission? “Did you hit your head on something last night?”

“What are you talking about, Peaches?” Spike looked as confused as Angel felt. 

“You, asking permission for things.” 

“Ah. That.” Spike’s entire body tensed, almost as if he was expecting to be hit. 

“Yeah, that. Want to explain?” 

“Not really.” The blonde looked anywhere that wasn’t at Angel, very uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking.

“Let me rephrase. Explain.” Angel’s tone hardened, making it clear he would brook no disobedience. 

Spike sighed, still refusing to meet Angel’s eyes. “All right, fine. I just want to do this right. It’s the first time you’ve given me a chance and I don’t want to screw it up by not following your rules.” 

“Not all of those rules are still applicable,” Angel said wryly, intrigued by this softer, more pliable version of Spike. 

Spike grinned. “Yeah, I kinda figured that, seeing as you don’t hunt anymore and all.” 

“Neither do you,” Angel said, his tone unyielding, his body gone hard. He half-expected the blonde to fight him on this, because as far as he knew, the younger vampire had never stopped hunting. It didn’t matter that Spike occasionally helped the Slayer and her friends, he would have found a way to hunt without killing—the way Angelus had taught him to hunt—and thus escaped her radar. 

“I know,” Spike said, surprising Angel when he put up no resistance. “But the other ones… I was never the kind of Childe to willfully disobey. And if you’re letting me back in your life, then I see no reason to keep acting as… what did you call me last night…a renegade?” 

“Okay,” Angel said. “I’ll accept that explanation. And I’ll also say that if that’s what you’re willing to do, to put the past in the past, then I’ll do the same. Your slate is clean with me.” 

Spike grinned wryly. “So no retribution for the hot poker?” 

Angel rolled his eyes. “Don’t tempt me, but no. A clean slate is exactly that.” 

“And the rules, aside from the ones about hunting, are still the same?” 

Angel grinned. “Mm-hmm. Think you remember them all, Spike?” 

The blonde swallowed hard at the challenge in his Sire’s tone. “I’m sure you’ll remind me if I don’t, Sire.” 

Angel laughed aloud at that. “You’d be right at that.” He picked the duster up off the ground. “I believe you asked to have this returned.” 

“Aye,” Spike said, his voice soft. 

“You can have it back,” Angel said, handing the duster to the blonde, who pulled it on eagerly. 

“You could’ve kept it,” the blonde said. “Why didn’t you?” 

“Because,” Angel said, “keeping it would be a punishment. And as far as I know, you’ve not done anything deserving of one.” 

Spike’s eyes lit up with pleasure as he pulled the duster closed around him. “Ta mate.” 

Angel rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. To see his Childe like this, happy and carefree even for a moment, meant everything to him. And, for the first time, he understood exactly why Spike would follow someone to the ends of the earth. Now that he had the blonde back where he belonged, Angel would stop at nothing to keep him there.

Spike followed closely behind Angel, contemplating everything that had happened in the last couple of days. He’d been determined to meet the sun that morning, but Angel’s appearance had changed pretty much everything. That didn’t mean that all the problems were gone, though, because nothing was ever that easy. 

Angel telling him to get out of the city had simply been the last straw, the last item on a rather long list of problems. First, there was the Slayer. Buffy had been brought back to life and he’d done his best to comfort her, to show her that it was okay to have a little darkness inside her. But she hadn’t appreciated the help, had even gone so far as to accuse him of rape; nothing even came close to happening, which was the story of his life, really, being blamed for someone else’s mistakes. And then there were the Slayerettes. Xander, Willow, and Tara. Xander didn’t get it at all. He was completely prejudiced against the entire demon world, and Spike couldn’t blame him. The kid had to stake his best friend, after all, so had more reason to hate vampires than the Slayer. Willow and Tara with all their witchy madness were a story all on their own; a story Spike was more than willing to leave well enough alone. And although the four disagreed and bickered constantly, there was one thing they all agreed on: Spike was a hindrance, an annoyance. 

Spike sighed as he thought of all that, making sure to keep close to Angel. He found his mind turning to the humans Angel employed and wondered if maybe here he could find a place to fit in, a place to finally call home after so many centuries of running. He’d met all of the humans before, but at that time he hadn’t been interested in getting to know any of them. All he’d wanted then was the Gem of Amara, which he hadn’t gotten, but it was worth the effort. 

Cordelia he remembered from Sunnydale. She was a pretty brunette who had been very popular as a teenager and rather high maintenance. But she’d never been afraid of vampires or any other demon, though she’d been grossed out by plenty of them. The woman might have a weak stomach, but Spike had always admired her courage. The others, Wesley and Gunn, Spike didn’t know much about. He knew that Wesley was a Watcher, like Rupert, and that Gunn was a demon hunter, but that was as far as his knowledge went. When he’d gone after the Gem, he hadn’t really stuck around to figure out their personalities. And he’d heard rumors of a fourth member, but hadn’t set eyes on her. He’d half-assumed she was just a story, not an actual person. In any case, he’d find out soon enough.

“We’re here,” Angel said, bringing Spike back to the present. 

Spike pulled the leather duster as close to his skin as possible, half-wishing he hadn’t used his shirt as a duster last night. He stepped up so that he was nearly on Angel’s heels. He didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea and try to shoot him before his Sire could explain his presence to the humans. A part of him hoped that the humans would just accept his presence without commenting, but he knew logically that three trained investigators wouldn’t just let it lie. 

Angel opened the door. He was a bit bemused at the way Spike was trying to use him as a shield. Knowing the blonde was self-conscious didn’t diminish his amusement in the least. 

Cordelia, as always, was the first to greet him. “Hey, Angel,” she said, coming out from behind the desk. She stopped short when she saw Spike. “What is he doing here?” she demanded, fists planted on her hips. 

“Nice to see you too, Ducks,” Spike said, trying and failing to keep his tone neutral, which caused the words to come out in a less-than-pleasant snarl. 

Angel sighed. “He’s here because it’s the best place for me to keep an eye on him.” He eyed the blonde speculatively. He was going to have to rein the man in, and soon, if Spike couldn’t get his temper under control. 

“Why can’t you keep an eye on him through the Slayer?” 

“Aw, and here I thought you missed me,” Spike said, his tone more conversationally sarcastic than snarling this time. He’d apparently realized snarling at his Sire’s humans wasn’t the best way to show Angel his pleasure at being offered a second chance.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Like I’d ever miss you, bleached wonder.” 

“Oy! I don’t bleach!” 

“There is no way that your roots are that blonde.” 

Angel smiled. With the way the two were bickering, he had a feeling Spike and Cordelia would get along just fine. “Where are Wesley and Gunn?” 

Cordelia flipped her hair impatiently out of her eyes and turned her attention back to Angel. “Well, that’s what I was going to tell you before I got distracted by this bleached menace here.” 

Spike scowled. “It’s not my fault you got distracted by my hair.” 

Cordelia snorted. “Like your hair could ever distract me. Your presence here is just a little unnerving.” 

“Unnerving?” Spike said, eyes lighting up with a grin. “You afraid, Ducks?” 

“Of you?” Cordelia scoffed. “As if.” 

“Oy!” 

Angel sighed impatiently. “Gunn and Wesley?” 

“Oh, right. That’s what I was meaning to tell you. They’re both here, but I can’t get them to come to work. Wesley is in his room, reading some ancient text about demon mating rituals, for all I know. And Gunn is in his room, drinking himself under the table. And Fred is… well, she’s doing her usual thing. But you didn’t ask about Fred.” 

Bemused, Angel said, “No, I didn’t. Fred’s fine when she’s in her room. But Wesley and Gunn are starting to worry me. I know that work has been slow lately, but Wesley has never withdrawn this far into himself before and Gunn’s drinking is really starting to get to me.” 

Spike spoke up then, willing and able to volunteer his services. “Peaches, I can get the Watcher out of his books, I’m sure of it. I mean, if you’ll let me near him.” He suddenly felt self-conscious, realizing he was trying to insinuate himself into the family dynamic. It was second nature for him to help out, and he didn’t really know what he’d do if Angel refused. Stand by helplessly, he supposed. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Cordelia said, frowning at Spike. “I’m still not sure it’s a good idea for him to be here, even if you are keeping an eye on him. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kick his ass out of here.” 

Angel frowned at Cordelia, suppressing the urge to smile. If he smiled in front of Cordelia, she’d think he’d lost his mind, or worse, his soul. “You’re not going to kick him out, Cordelia, because I’m still your boss and I say he stays.” 

Spike felt warmth suffuse him at those words. His Sire was sort of sticking up for him. Not quite in the way he’d like, but there was plenty of time to work on that. After all, this was a new ball game for both of them. “That’s right, Ducks. Now which room is mine?” 

“Spike.” 

“Peaches?” 

“You’ll be sharing my room.” 

“Oy! I don’t need to be watched that closely!” Spike felt insulted. Surely Angel didn’t think he was going to renege on what he’d said earlier about obeying him. 

Angel turned to face Spike full on and the blonde caught his breath at the serious look on his Sire’s face. “If I think you need to be watched that closely, do you really think you have the right to complain?” 

Before Spike could answer, Cordelia broke in. “Guys, if you’re going to fight, can you at least wait until I’m out of the room? I’d really like to avoid the bloodshed if I can.” 

Angel never took his eyes off Spike. “Don’t worry, Cordelia. We won’t be fighting. Will we, Spike?” 

Spike shivered at the tone in his Sire’s voice. Even though he felt self-conscious about answering Angel while someone else was in the room, he was more afraid of what would happen if he refused, since refusing to answer would be a deliberate disobedience on his part, and Spike wasn’t sure just how far Angel would go. “No, Sire.” 

“You’ll be sleeping in my room. Understand?” 

“Aye.” 

“Good. Now, why do you think you can help pull Wesley out of his books?” 

Spike grinned, his moment of self-consciousness over. “Well, mate; I’m a walking, talking legend. Surely he won’t be able to resist that!” 

Angel grunted in amusement. Only Spike would think of telling a story to get a Watcher out of his books. “Okay. He’s in Room 425. Try not to scare him. He’s a bit jumpy around vampires.” 

The younger vampire gave Angel a ‘would I do that?’ look and began walking towards the stairs. 

“I mean it, Spike. If Wesley has one complaint about your behavior, I will not be happy.” 

“Aye. Ta mate.” 

Angel turned back to Cordelia, still slightly amused at the exchange he’d had with Spike. “So, you said Gunn was in his room, drinking again?” 

“Yeah, he is; as usual.” 

Angel sighed. The night was going to be a long one. Spike was just the beginning of his problems. “Thanks, Cordelia. I’ll explain Spike later. Right now, I better see to Gunn.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel finds Spike about to commit suicide and pulls him away from the brink by invoking Sire's rights. He offers him a home and a chance to prove himself, something Spike has been aching for for over a century.

**Chapter Three**

Spike hummed to himself as he walked down the 400s hallway, stopping at Room 425. He knocked twice, sticking his hands in his pockets as he waited for Wesley to answer the door. 

The Englishman peeked out from behind a chain. Spike felt a surge of respect for the man—that sort of caution could save his life in the future. 

“Spike,” Wesley said, face contorting in confusion. “What are you doing here?” 

The blonde thought a long moment before replying. He didn’t want to spook the Watcher, as he really didn’t want to give Angel a reason to punish him. “I came to talk.” 

“Talk? What about?” 

“Me. You. Whatever you want, really. Angel sent me to keep you company.” 

Wesley frowned in suspicion. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? Last time I saw you, you were sticking a hot poker through Angel’s side.” 

Spike winced. Of course the man would remember that. “Aye. Well if you don’t want to let me in, I’ll respect that. I’ll just stand here and chat with you.” 

The Englishman considered this for a moment. “I’d rather not,” he said, and went to close the door.

“You don’t want to talk about me?” Spike said. “Surely you know who I am.” 

“All I know about you is that you are a thorn in Angel’s side and that you have a very juvenile name.” 

Spike scowled. “I earned this name, I’ll have you know.” 

“Oh, really? And how did you go about doing that?” 

The blonde shifted uncomfortably. “I used to drive railroad spikes into my prey, but that isn’t what I want to talk about. And I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hear about my years as Spike. I used to go by another name. One I’m sure even you will recognize.” 

“What do you mean, one even I will recognize? I’ll have you know, I’m very well read and—

Spike waved him to silence. “I’m sure you are, but that’s not the point. Do you want to know who I am or not?” 

Wesley scowled. “I’m not sure I’d care even if you told me you were William the Bloody himself.” 

Spike couldn’t help himself, he burst out laughing. “Oy! But that’s just it, mate! I am!” 

Wesley turned as white as a sheet, whether from fear or assumed humiliation, Spike wasn’t quite sure. “That’s impossible,” the human said with a quiet assurance. “William the Bloody disappeared when the Scourge of Europe did. It was written in the history books that William met his end at the end of his Sire’s stake.” 

“Aye. It does. I also convinced the watcher who wrote that book to put that information in it. None of it’s true. It also says Drusilla was William’s Sire, no?” 

Wesley nodded reluctantly. “It does, but if Drusilla wasn’t William’s Sire, who was?” 

Spike snorted. This was just too priceless. “Angelus was.” 

“That does make a certain sort of sense.” The watcher frowned. “But that doesn’t mean you’re William. You said yourself your name was Spike.” 

“Aye. It is now. It used to be William.” Still is, if Angel decides that’s what he’d rather call me. 

“I still am not conceding that you were ever William the Bloody.” 

Spike shrugged. “Don’t matter to me, mate. Believe what you want. I just came up here to chat. I’m sure you get tired of all the reading. A bit of interaction with people is just what the doctor ordered.” 

“I’m not sure interacting with a demon is considered healthy, Spike.” 

“That why you’ve holed yourself up and refuse to talk to Angel, then?” 

Wesley sputtered, “How did you know I’ve been refusing to…” A look of consternation crossed the Watcher’s face. “You didn’t know,” he sighed. “You guessed.” 

Spike grinned. “No worries, mate. Lesser men than you have tried and failed to match wits with me. Now, you wanna tell me why you’re so afraid to talk to Angel? Aside from the vampire bit, of course.” 

Wesley sighed and pulled back the chain and opened the door to his room. He didn’t invite Spike inside, but instead went and retrieved a chair and sat it a good five feet away from the threshold. 

“I like you,” Spike said, grinning. 

“Oh?” 

“I gotta admit, not used to humans with smarts. I haven’t been able to get at you once since I’ve been standing here.” 

Wesley paused, pushing his glasses up on his nose in a way eerily similar to one Rupert Giles. “Surely humans aren’t that stupid.” 

“No, but most are ignorant. Makes hunting easier.” 

“I’m sure.” 

“Enough about that. Why can’t you talk to Angel?” 

Wesley sighed. “Conversing with Angel is difficult, at best. He is aloof and incredibly difficult to read. I am unable to judge how he will react to something until after I have said it. I am not accustomed to speaking of my private affairs with someone who would most likely view them as simplistic and ridiculous.” 

“In other words, you’re afraid he’ll laugh at you.” 

“Simply put, yes.” 

“Okay. I’ll accept that. Now, I can tell you stories you’ll never find in any of your books.” 

“About William the Bloody?”

Spike sighed in exasperation. “How many times do I have to tell you, I am William the Bloody?” 

Wesley shook his head in denial. “I won’t accept that you are William the Bloody unless I can get confirmation from a more reliable source.” 

Spike snorted. Great. Now he didn’t even scare the Watcher, which sucked because he was William the Bloody…but on the other hand, scaring the Watcher would mean punishment, so it was a good thing too. “All right. I’ll wait until I can get Angel to confirm it. Until then, I’ll tell you stories. You’ll just have to accept that I’ll be telling them in first person.” 

Shrugging, the Englishman said, “I think I can handle suspending disbelief for the amount of time it takes you to tell me a story or two.” 

“Ta for that. Well, it all started in…. 

 

Angel paced the hallway Gunn lived on a few hundred times before he got the courage to knock on the man’s door. He could’ve just barged in, but something in him prevented him from being so rude. 

Gunn stumbled to the door and undid the latch. The smell of alcohol was so strong on him that Angel had to stop breathing, something he actually liked doing, just so he could stand in the same room with the man. “Ohhiangellllll. Wassssn’tt expppecctinnng you. Doo weee haave a casseee?” 

“No, and you should be glad we don’t, being this drunk. A fledgling could take you in the state you’re in.” 

“Nawww. You’rree jussst sauying thaaat to maakee mee feeeeel baaadd.” 

“Doesn’t look like you need any help with that.” Angel picked the man up and positioned him comfortably on the couch. He muttered under his breath, beyond the human range of hearing, angered and saddened at the state Gunn had gotten himself into. Tomorrow, he vowed to himself, Tomorrow, I will get here before he starts drinking and knock some sense into him.

Gunn started snoring gently and Angel eased out of the room. He wasn’t going to spend another minute in that room when he didn’t have to. He’d get Spike to clean it tomorrow, something he knew his Childe would just love him for. But Spike was his. And he’d do it as ordered, simply because Angel had said to. Angel felt a surge of possessiveness and hummed under his breath as he made his way to Wesley’s room to check on his wayward Childe. 

What he saw there amused him. Wesley was sitting about five feet inside the room, eyes focused intently on Spike, clearly hanging on his every move. Spike was in the middle of the story of how he’d been turned and gave a slow hand signal only Angel could see that asked him to wait until he’d finished. Angel grinned to himself. If Spike had demanded he wait, had used the signals only master vampires could use, he would’ve barged up to the two men and taken Spike to task. But Spike had used the signals of a fledgling Childe to his Sire, and that was enough to sate Angel’s need for dominance. He’d told Spike he was a fledgling with human families, and the blonde had apparently taken that to heart and reverted to using signals that hadn’t been required from him in over a decade. He relaxed against the wall and tuned into the conversation.

“Drusilla attempted to turn me, but something went wrong. Her visions interfered with the turning, and Angelus had to take over. He wasn’t exactly ecstatic about having to fix the dark princess’s mistakes,” Spike said. 

Wesley considered that for a moment. “So that’s why all the records list Drusilla as William’s Sire. Strictly speaking, she was the one who tried to turn him.” 

Spike sighed. “That is why she is listed as my Sire. Truthfully, both her and Angelus shared Sire’s rights over me, but she never claimed them. She turned them all over to Angelus without a care in the world, because she didn’t want the responsibility of raising a Childe. Of course, in typically Dru-like behavior, she’d seen something she wanted and went for it without considering the consequences. Angelus got stuck with me.” 

Wesley frowned. “I do wish you’d stop referring to yourself as William the Bloody. You are very obviously not him, even if you do know quite a lot about the man.” 

Angel tried not to laugh at what he was hearing. His William was being told he couldn’t possibly be William the Bloody? This was better than theater. 

“What is it about me, exactly, that makes you think I am somehow less than the William in the history books?” 

“Aside from the fact you’re supposedly dead, according to those same books?” 

“Aye, aside from that.” 

“Well…you just don’t look like a killer.” 

“Oy! I’m a vampire, mate!” 

The blonde’s outrage was so palpable Angel had to stifle his laughter. William had worked for his reputation and worked hard. To be told now that he didn’t look the part had to be a bit humiliating and a bit infuriating. Angel started at that thought, but quieted down quickly enough. He’d told the blonde not to scare Wesley, and his Childe had never been anything but obedient. Even if he didn’t like or understand Angel’s orders, Spike always obeyed them.

Wesley rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, you are most obviously a vampire. But that does not make you one of the most infamous vampires in written history. Surely William the Bloody would never consort with humans of his own free will.” 

Spike had no reply for that. At least, no good reply. What was he going to say? Oh, my Sire got a soul and I’ve followed him for years trying to get back in his life and consorting with humans is sort of the only way I can do that? Yeah, that’d go over real well with a man who refused to believe he was who he said he was. 

“See? Even you can’t come up with a good reason that you’re here talking to me.” 

“Sure I can, English.” 

“And what’s that?” 

Angel took that as his cue to enter the conversation and he walked smoothly over to the two men and rested a hand on Spike’s shoulder. “Because I told him to, of course.” 

“Angel,” Wesley said. “You should hear the things Spike has been telling me.” 

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t need to hear them. Has he behaved?” 

Spike tensed, expecting the worse. This was the deciding moment, the one that determined whether he would be allowed to roam freely amongst the humans or be confined indefinitely to one room under his Sire’s watchful gaze. 

“What ever do you mean, Angel?” 

“Did he do anything to threaten you?”

“Oh, good heavens, no. He’s been a perfect gentleman. Aside from insisting that he’s one of the most infamous vampires in history, of course.” 

“He won’t believe I’m William the Bloody, Angel.” 

“Well, you shouldn’t have bribed that Watcher into writing your death into the history books.” 

“But I didn’t want Darla to find me. You know how she was when Drusilla and I snuck off by ourselves, and Drusilla went crazy   
trying to find you after the gypsies cursed you. I couldn’t leave a trace of myself behind, or Darla would’ve dogged us every step of the way. And if she’d found you, she would have killed you.” 

Angel always wondered why William decided to stop carving his name into the history books, but that explanation spoke volumes. “Makes sense. Why else won’t he believe you?”

Wesley frowned up at them. “Angel, he hardly dresses the part of cold-blooded killer.” 

“You’re still not convinced?” Spike wailed, a nearly comical sight in his distress.

Wesley laughed. “Your upset is hardly enough to convince me I’m wrong.” 

Angel knew if he didn’t do something, his Childe would whine for weeks on end, and he didn’t want to deal with an even more obnoxious version of Spike. And Wesley also needed to know that he really was dealing with one of the most dangerous vampires ever made, or he’d slip up and get himself killed. Not with Spike, but with another creature he’d underestimated. 

“Wesley, I’m sorry for this.” 

“Sorry for what, Angel?” 

Angel smiled grimly. “William.” 

“Yes, Sire?” Spike’s tone was calm, curious, and even. He was listening intently. 

“You have ten seconds.” 

Spike’s eyes widened in understanding and surprise and he turned to Wesley, a feral grin on his face. For the first time that night, Wesley felt nervous, but still not afraid. After all, he was protected by the law that prevented vampires from passing over a threshold uninvited. But the man in front of him was no longer exuding a calm, carefree attitude. No. The man he was looking at now was possessed of a feline, predatory grace that rattled him. The vampire in his vision was dangerous, but no more dangerous than another. He felt confident if Spike did cross the threshold he’d be able to hold his own.

“Any rules, Sire?” 

Angel rolled his eyes. “No biting. Eight seconds.” 

Spike pouted, but nodded his agreement. He’d had over an hour to assess the room Wesley inhabited. The bathroom, which he’d been able to see from the corridor, was the type that connected to the room next door. Without hesitation, he turned to the room connected to Wesley’s and entered the room silently through the bathroom. 

Angel kept his eyes focused on Wesley, never giving away the location of his Childe. This was a game they’d played when the vampire really was a fledgling, but he’d always been given ten minutes, not mere seconds, to work with. Then again, they’d been playing with vampires, not humans. Ten seconds was more than enough. “Four seconds, William.” 

Wesley felt a hand clamp over his mouth and teeth on his neck before he could even think about screaming. His heart seemed to stop and start in short bursts and the back of his hair stood on end. A million scenarios flashed through his head. Perhaps he could yank himself free by pulling on the arm that encased him. Or stomp the vampire’s foot and force him to release him. 

“Nothing you do can save you from him, Wes,” Angel said quietly from the doorway. “I trained William to withstand any and all forms of physical pain unless inflicted by my hand. He was the perfect soldier, always willing to do the dirty work others couldn’t stomach. It’s how he earned the nickname. The only way he’ll release you is by my orders.” 

Spike couldn’t help it; the praise his Sire was giving him caused him to start purring a bit in the back of his throat. 

“You can let him speak, William.” 

Spike removed his hand, acting on autopilot. It was a long time since Angel sent him on a play mission, but there was a certain thrill in it that he hadn’t realized he’d missed. In this head space, the only voice that could reach him was his Sire’s. It was a fail-safe, in case he fell into enemy hands.

Wesley glared at Angel for all he was worth, but didn’t move from his spot. “Is…is he purring?” he asked, astounded. 

“Probably,” Angel said. “He always did take a certain pleasure in catching our prey.” He didn’t add that his Childe was purring   
because he’d praised him; he needed to establish Spike as dangerous—someone not to be messed with. 

“I get it, Angel. He really is William the Bloody,” Wesley said, his breath coming in short gasps. 

“Are you sure you really understand, Wesley? He could chew you up and spit you out and you’d never be the wiser. The only thing standing between you and certain death is me.” 

Wesley’s eyes widened as he realized exactly what that meant.

“Do you trust me with your life, Wes?” 

The Watcher rolled his eyes, dismissing the potentially dangerous situation he found himself in. “I say yes with complete confidence in you, Angel. You have saved my life on multiple occasions, so I do not see any possible reason that you would wish to take it from me now.” 

Angel grunted, satisfied with that. “William.” He waited until the blonde’s eyes were focused solely on him. “Release him. Mission over.” 

Spike jumped back from Wesley as if he’d been burned and turned accusing eyes on Angel. “Sire, you promised you wouldn’t ever do that to me again! You know I hate not being in control of myself.” His anger was palpable.

Angel scowled, not at all pleased with the tone his Childe had adopted. “You will remember who you are addressing, Childe. Do I make myself clear?” 

Spike closed his eyes hard at Angel’s tone and reigned in his temper. If his Sire had used his training, he had no right to question it. He is my Sire, I will obey him, he chanted inside his head a few hundred times. “Yes, Sire,” he said, his tone respectful and devoid of the anger he’d shown only moments earlier. 

“I’m sorry that I used your training without alerting you, Spike, but Wesley needed to understand that you can be incredibly dangerous. He needed to understand that you are, indeed, William the Bloody, and a valuable asset to the team.” 

Spike grinned. “Ta mate. I can accept that.” 

Wesley sighed. “I suppose I should thank you for showing me that I have a habit of underestimating my enemies. I’m still hard-pressed to believe that I have William the Bloody standing in my living room.” He did a double take. “Oh my lord, I have William the Bloody standing in my living room!”

Spike laughed. “Aye, mate. But no worries, I won’t be hurting anyone here. Sire’s orders and all.” 

Wesley frowned. “And you always obey Angel’s orders?” 

Spike grinned. “That’s for me to know, English!” 

“That’s not comforting!” 

Angel rolled his eyes. “He always obeys me, Wesley. You don’t need to worry about that.” 

Wesley smiled uncertainly. “Okay. Well, if I have your guarantee…

“You have my word that he will not harm you.” 

“I suppose I can live with that.” 

Spike grinned. “Hey Peaches.” 

“What, Spike? And stop calling me that, it’s annoying.” 

“You love it. And I told you I could get him out of his books.” 

“Yes, you did. Now get out of his room before you give the man a heart attack.” 

“Oh. Didn’t realize I was in it, since you used the mumbo jumbo on me and all.” 

“Spike, don’t make me send you to bed early.” 

“What? I didn’t do anything,” the blonde said, far too innocently in Angel’s opinion.

Angel couldn’t help it, he laughed. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, William.” 

“Aww, didn’t know you cared, Peaches,” Spike shot back, and was downstairs before Angel could think of a retort.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel finds Spike about to commit suicide and pulls him away from the brink by invoking Sire's rights. He offers him a home and a chance to prove himself, something Spike has been aching for for over a century.

**Chapter Four**

 

Somehow Spike had managed to stumble into Angel’s life during a time of relative peace. Not that there weren’t problems, of course, but they seemed to be more human in nature than demonic. William was always an asset to have around when it came to dealing with other people, and Angel suspected the same could be said of Spike, although the older vampire was sure that, as Spike, the blonde had developed cruder tactics than William would have ever employed.  
One such tactic was the one he’d used to pull Wesley from his books. William wouldn’t have volunteered information about himself—he was too self-conscious and shy. Spike was confident and sure of himself and his own abilities. A master vampire indeed, Angel thought, and felt a surge of pride. His fledgling Childe had grown into a very capable Master, which pleased Angel to no end. It wasn’t everyday he got a chance to be proud of the bloodthirsty Childer he’d created.

Wesley spoke then, pulling Angel back to reality. “Angel, I’m sure you have a perfectly good explanation for giving shelter to such a dangerous creature, and I’d appreciate it if you would tell it to me.” 

Angel studied Wesley for a long moment, trying to determine how much he could tell the bookish Englishman without worrying him.

“I despise it when you do that,” Wesley said. 

“Do what?” 

“Act as if you believe me to need coddling. I assure you, I am quite capable of handling the truth. There is no reason to treat me with kid gloves.” 

Angel smiled ruefully at that. “I sometimes forget that you’re the most observant member of the team.” 

“I find it interesting,” Wesley said, his look thoughtful, as he pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose. 

“What’s that?” Angel asked, puzzled. Had he really given the Watcher something to be intrigued over? He searched his mind, but couldn’t think of anything. It must be a human thing, he mused. 

“Ah. Well, according to my calculations, it was a scant ten minutes ago you were encouraging a bloodthirsty creature to subdue me. And now, here you are, unable or unwilling to offer an explanation as to why Spike’s presence here is a necessary one.” 

Oh. That. Angel didn’t realize that Wesley would consider that strange. For him, playing such a game with his Childe seemed harmless. Then clarity of struck. Wesley was human. Of course he wouldn’t understand that he had never truly been in any danger. “You were perfectly safe, Wesley.” 

“While I can appreciate there are substantial differences between our races, I can assure you that I did not feel perfectly safe having a dangerous vampire violate the sanctity of my home and hold me hostage. I feel violated and decidedly not safe.” 

“Even though I told you that Spike will never harm you as long as I don’t give him permission?”

Wesley stared at the vampire as if he’d lost his mind. Did Angel really expect him to believe that Spike would simply roll over, like a puppy, as ordered? “Even though,” he said. “Has it crossed your mind, even once, that Spike may not be the tamed creature you believe him to be?” 

Angel couldn’t help it; he laughed. Humans and vampires certainly differed in this way, at least. Of course it hadn’t crossed his mind, because Spike would never disobey a direct order. It was hardwired into his brain—vampires had Sires as a failsafe, a guarantee that they wouldn’t become extinct. No vampire would disobey his Sire unless their own life was endangered, as Angel had when he’d disobeyed Darla. And even then, the pain was excruciating—most likely the worst pain that Angel ever endured. 

His hands half-clenching into fists, Wesley took a deep breath, and forced himself to remain calm. “I am quite certain I do not understand what it is you find so amusing under the circumstances, Angel.” 

The elder vampire started guiltily. He’d done it again—forgotten that Wesley wasn’t a vampire and so wouldn’t understand the lore that prevented Spike from hurting the Watcher. “I’m sorry, Wes. I forget sometimes that you don’t know everything about vampires.” 

“Yes, well,” Wesley said, obviously flustered. “I’m flattered that you think so much of my knowledge, but could we get around to the explanation bit any time soon?” 

Shaking his head in bemusement, Angel said, “Why not? And since you said I didn’t need to treat you with kid gloves, I’ll give you the whole story.” He paused, unsure how much or what exactly he should tell Wesley. He’s my Childe and I have to provide a home for him, hardly seemed appropriate, but it was the closest to how he truly felt. 

Exasperated, Wesley rubbed the bridge of his nose, pinching the sides together in an attempt to alleviate a brewing migraine. 

“Anytime you’d like, Angel.” 

Angel started, unused to the watcher being so abrupt. “Oh, right. Spike’s here because I’m concerned for him, and I feel I should keep an eye on him.” 

“Are you feeling obligated to help him out because he is part of your blood family?” 

“No. I have never felt obligated to help anyone from my past, Wes. I ruled them with an iron fist, which you should know since it’s all included in the Watchers’ journals.” 

“Yes, I am quite aware of how it is said Angelus ruled his blood family. If not obligation, then, what drives you to help him?” 

Angel smiled self-deprecatingly. “I’m not sure I can explain it to you properly, Wesley. It’s sort of a vampire thing.” That was the truth and not quite the truth. Sure, Angel felt a sense of responsibility towards his Childe, but it wasn’t the type of overwhelming obligatory emotion to which Wesley was alluding.

“Try, Angel. I promise I will listen.” 

Yeah, but will you understand? Angel thought a bit bitterly. Even Wesley, the human that understood more about vampires than ninety percent of other humans, didn’t quite grasp the fact that Angelus and Angel was the same person. All he saw when he looked at Angel was Angel—a vampire with a soul. And that soul was what it made it okay to trust said vampire. But Angelus was a part of him, something he could attempt to suppress and hide from his human family, but not something he could hide from himself. Angelus was still very much alive—Angel was Angelus with a soul. He could’ve kept his original name—even had, for a time—but it stirred up trouble wherever he went. Shortening it was the best thing he could’ve done to keep himself hidden from the Watchers. Not, he thought ironically, unlike a certain blonde I know. 

Wesley tapped his foot, clearing growing impatient. “Angel, are you going to tell me or not? If not, there is plenty of time for me to return to the riveting tales of River the Tame.”

Angel snorted. “River was anything but tame.” 

“I’m well aware of that. Wait. You knew River?” 

Angel gave him one of his trademark stares. 

“Oh, of course you do. You were ravaging the countryside with William at the time he was in power, no?” 

“I was. But I’m pretty sure we weren’t talking about River.” 

“We weren’t, but you don’t seem very inclined to discuss Spike with me.” 

Angel winced. “I’m sorry, Wesley. It’s difficult to put into words.” At Wesley’s disappointed look, he continued hastily. “But I’ll try. I was out last night, thinking, and Spike sort of came out of nowhere.” 

“Not with a hot poker, I presume?” 

The dry amusement in Wesley’s tone made Angel laugh, and as he laughed, he loosened up. “No. I don’t think I could go another round with a hot poker so soon after the last one.” The incident had only occurred a couple weeks ago, and though Angel healed quickly, the flesh was still rather tender.

“And what was Spike doing on the roof?” Wesley asked, knowing full well that when Angel disappeared to think, he went to the old abandoned skyscraper a few blocks over. 

“Apparently he was waiting to die.” 

Wesley let out a small gasp of disbelief. 

“I know. I didn’t believe it, either. Spike, the man who ran a hot poker through my side, was waiting for the sun. I don’t know if you knew, but earlier that night I’d had a run in with him; told him to leave the city. I banned him from it, to be honest.” 

“Why did you ban him?” 

Angel scowled at the memory. “I found him drinking from a passed out junkie in an alley. He wasn’t covering his tracks any better than a fledging would. I think he expected me to find him. I don’t think he expected me to ban him.” 

“He probably expected you to praise him.” 

Angel shook his head, negating that idea. “Spike would’ve been much more circumspect if he was looking for my praise. No, he was trying to make me angry.” 

“And he succeeded, by the sound of it.” 

“Yeah.” Angel let out an annoyed sigh. “He always did know how to push my buttons.” 

“So if you told him to leave the city, how did he come to be on the rooftop with you?” 

“I asked him that same question. He told me he wanted one last perfect picture of the city before he had to leave.” 

“How did it go from that to him confessing he was there to greet the sun?” 

The curiosity in Wesley’s tone wasn’t judgmental. If anything, it helped to soothe Angel’s fragile nerves and made him want to talk to the Watcher. It made Angel smile a little on the inside, and he wondered how Wesley would feel if he ever knew he had a calming affect on a vampire. He’d probably go ballistic. “About an hour before sunrise, I suggested we hole up in the building for the day, since it’s not attached to the tunnel system.” 

That tidbit of information surprised Wesley. He’d assumed that building, along with ninety percent of the old abandoned buildings in the city, were connected to the underground tunnels. “He didn’t agree, then?” 

“No. But I wasn’t about to let my Childe turn into dust when his reasoning for wanting to meet the sun was something I could do something about.” 

“What was his reasoning?” Wesley was gently curious.

But the question shut Angel up instantly. He would not discuss William’s emotions with anyone but the man in question. The blonde was just too sensitive. If Angel shared Spike’s distress with Wesley, it would eventually get back to him, and Angel wasn’t sure he could live with himself—or Spike—if that were to happen. “That’s between us,” he said. 

“I respect that,” Wesley said. Seeing that Angel wasn’t going to offer any more conversation, he added, “Should we join Cordelia and our mislaid adventurer downstairs? I’m sure it would do me some good to converse with the living.” 

Angel smiled. Trust Spike to manage something he hadn’t been able to do in months. “Sounds good,” he said.   
The two of them came downstairs together to find Cordelia and Spike sprawled out on the floor, playing a game of poker. Spike had spread his duster out on the floor and was laying comfortably, elbows propped up in front of him as he concentrated on his cards. 

Without being asked, he slid effortlessly off his duster and onto the floor beside him. Angel took up residence on the duster without comment, flicking a look of appreciation the blonde’s direction. Spike shrugged slightly, as if to say, what’d you expect? 

Angel was satisfied that William remembered his distaste for getting his clothes dirty, as well as his distaste for cold floors. Speaking of cold floors, Spike was bare-chested again, and while Angel would never be able to get enough of his lithe body, he wasn’t sure how he felt about the others being able to ogle his Childe.

“Oy! You can’t do that, that’s bloody cheatin!” Spike threw his hand down in disgust and glared at Cordelia.

The brunette smiled innocently back, picking non-existent dirt out from underneath her nails, daring Spike to do something about it. 

“How exactly is she cheating?” Wesley broke in, having taken a seat cross-legged on the floor beside Cordelia. 

“Takin’ four cards without a bloody ace is bloody cheatin, Ducks,” Spike said, addressing Cordelia and completely ignoring the watcher’s input. 

Angel had to smother a grin. Watching Cordelia and Spike interact was going to be fun, he just knew it. The two of them were similar in their don’t-care-about-anyone-but-myself attitude, but they both deeply cared for everyone around them. It was one reason he’d felt inexplicably attracted to Cordelia when she first joined the team, but that attraction had been fleeting once he’d realized he was trying to replace Spike. 

That thought sobered him. Ever since he’d left his blood family, the only thing he’d regretted was leaving William behind. William, the Childe who would and had gone to the ends of the earth trying to prove his worth to his Sire. The Childe who had become Spike in a desperate effort to keep his true nature—William’s nature—hidden from the world around him. 

“Peaches, make her stop cheatin!” 

Angel turned amused eyes on his Childe. “If you think I’m going to mess with a woman and her cards, you are very much mistaken.” 

Spike pouted, sending the rest into gales of laughter, but he finally conceded the hand to Cordelia, muttering the entire time about how unfair it was as well as how women always used their guile to get away with cheating, even with something as innocent as cards.

The four of them spent the rest of the night playing poker. Cordelia won, using the guile Spike had accused her of without batting an eyelash. Angel came in a close second, Wesley third, and Spike dead last. Angel had the advantage of knowing the tells of everyone there, and Wesley had a leg up over Spike because he counted cards—an ability that let him win when it wasn’t against Cordelia or Angel. Cordelia could melt the hardest of hearts, and Angel…well, no one could outplay Angel except Cordelia. And half the time, Wesley suspected the vampire let Cordelia win just to keep everything running smoothly. A losing Cordelia was an irate one, and no one liked Cordelia when she was angry. 

“All right,” Angel said when they were all played out. “I think I’m ready to call it a night. C’mon, Spike.” 

Spike looked torn. He wanted to stay up and continue playing with Wes and Cordelia, who were obviously getting ready to start another game. The two of them didn’t have to worry about exposure to sunlight, after all, so they could stay up as long as they wanted. At the same time, he wanted to obey his Sire, who was giving him an order. “Aw, Peaches, can’t I stay up and play with the kiddies a bit longer?” he asked, giving Angel his best puppy dog look. 

Angel rolled his eyes at his Childe, amused at the man’s antics. He lowered his voice to a decibel humans couldn’t hear and said, very softly, “I’ll give you two choices. You can stay up with them. Room number is 103, and I’ll keep it unlocked.” 

Just as low, Spike returned, “And the other choice?” 

“You don’t stay up with them. If you stay up with them, you won’t get this shirt back.” 

Spike blinked. As far as consequences went, they were rather lenient. But Angel also knew how much he wanted that shirt—his Sire had never allowed him to touch, let alone wear, any of his clothes in the past. It was a sort of Holy Grail.   
In human hearing, Angel said, “If you want, but you’ll be crap tomorrow.” 

Spike gathered his cards together and handed them to Cordelia, who looked at him with a thoughtful expression. The blonde didn’t pause to wonder what it was about. If Cordelia wanted to try and psychoanalyze him, she could do her best. So far, no one but Angel had been able to get inside his head. “Aw, fine Peaches. You win. Bed it is.” He winked at Cordelia, knowing it’d throw her off guard, and was rewarded with her startled expression. “Night, kiddies,” he said, picking his duster off the floor, slinging it around his shoulders, and began to follow Angel out of the room.

Wesley scowled after him. “We’re not children, Spike!” 

Spike whipped around with a flourish, walking backwards the entire time, demonstrating his feline grace in an effort to show off, Angel was sure. “Oy! You’re kiddies to me, English. I been alive over a century. I reckon that makes me your bloody senior!” 

Wesley snorted. “Having lived more years is not a proof of wisdom or maturity, Spike.” 

“Oy!” 

Angel was starting to get tired and when he got tired, he began to get cranky. He reached back behind him, not bothering to look what he was doing, grabbed the waistband of Spike’s jeans by the back belt loop, and pulled once. It wasn’t a harsh tug, nowhere near hard enough to cause the blonde to stumble, but it did the trick. Spike turned instantly around, fell into step behind Angel, and, miraculously, fell silent. 

The two of them entered Angel’s room without engaging in conversation. Spike immediately went to the side of the room that was devoid of all furniture. He folded his duster reverently and laid it against the wall, then removed his jeans and socks and folded those as well. The shoes he’d been wearing were safe in the entrance hall along with everyone else’s. No one wore shoes in Angel’s hotel—he was very conscious of good hygiene. Perhaps because he’d been born in a time when it was so uncommon. That left Spike standing silently in his boxers as he waited for his Sire to tell him where he was to sleep. He presumed nothing; this was new territory for both of them, and he refused to be the first to screw it up by forgetting one of the rules Angelus had beat into him as a fledgling. 

Angel smothered a smile when he saw Spike standing so uncertainly in the middle of the room. It brought back memories of an earlier time, but this was neither the time nor place to explore those memories. That had been years ago—over a century, really—and it wouldn’t be fair to compare Spike to the man he’d been then—just as it wouldn’t be fair for Spike to compare Angel to Angelus. The elder vampire took off his t-shirt and fought the temptation to toss it in his laundry bag. He’d promised it to Spike, and the man had certainly earned such a small thing with his behavior. Angel laid it on the bed after he folded it, watching in amusement as Spike eyed the shirt with longing and hopeful anticipation, but made no move to touch it. He finished divesting himself of clothing until he stood, as Spike did, in nothing but boxers. 

Angel picked up the shirt, walked past the blonde to the pile of clothes he’d stacked in the corner, and laid the shirt down on top of them. Spike’s face lit up in pleasure, because he knew from multiple lessons that when Angelus put something on top of William’s clothing, it was a gift. Angel half-expected Spike to bounce over to the pile of clothes like an eager puppy, and could see that the blonde wanted to do just that, but the man never moved. 

“There’s a sleeping bag on the top shelf of the closet,” Angel said, wishing he could instead instruct Spike to share his bed. But that was something big, a subject neither one of them had been willing to broach. 

“But you only ever used that as punishment before,” Spike protested, clapping a hand over his mouth when he realized he’d spoken out of turn. 

Angel frowned. “Things change, Spike. I’m not the same man I was then. And you’re not, either. I’m not using this as punishment, but as reassurance. I have no plans to hurt you unnecessarily. I am not the cruel master you remember.” 

Spike’s breath hitched. That was one thing Angel always loved about his Childe—no matter what, he always breathed. The blonde loved pretending to breath, and the only time he didn’t was when he slept. “Sire, I know that I might be overstepping my bounds here, but not being allowed to share your bed, even if it’s just to sleep, is something I will always associate with being punished.” 

Angel thought hard for a moment, but it didn’t take much effort to make up his mind. Spike was his Childe, and it had been a long time since he’d had someone in his bed. Even if it was only for sleeping. “All right,” he said finally. “You’ll share the bed with me. But the rules are the same as when you last did so.” 

Spike smiled, and when he did so, Angel saw a trace of the shy William peeking through. But that only lasted a moment, and then Spike was back in full. “Aye, Peaches.” No touching, no cuddling, just sleeping. The younger vampire hummed silently to himself as he slid underneath the covers on the left hand side—Angel preferred the right—and fell asleep almost instantly. 

Angel shook his head in fond exasperation as he slid under the covers beside his Childe. He fell asleep to the sound of contented purring, though he’d never tell Spike he purred in his sleep. If he told him, his Childe would consciously work to rid himself of the habit. And it was one habit that even in the days of Angelus had been endearing.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel finds Spike about to commit suicide and pulls him away from the brink by invoking Sire's rights. He offers him a home and a chance to prove himself, something Spike has been aching for for over a century.

**Chapter Five**

As usual, Spike woke before Angel. He spent a few moments just lying in bed, thinking about the events that had transpired in the last couple of days. When he’d been up on the roof of that skyscraper, the only thing that’d been on his mind was how soon he would be rid of his problems. Earlier that night when Angel found him being careless about covering his tracks, Spike had been almost relieved. Being banned from the city, which essentially banned him from all contact with his Sire, was what pushed him over the edge. 

For days, he’d been contemplating whether meeting the sun was the right decision. He’d postponed the act itself on multiple occasions, always finding reasons to put it off another night. They weren’t always good reasons—one time he’d decided not to meet the sun simply because he wanted to eat the wings a restaurant was renowned for. Food wasn’t exactly a good reason to put off suicide, but it’d been enough to convince him. But when Angel told him to leave L.A., to never come back…well, that was something Spike couldn’t stomach. So he’d gone to an abandoned skyscraper he knew would overlook the entire city of L.A. in an effort to make his last night a night with the greatest view in the world. 

Some would disagree with him saying the city of L.A. had the best view in the world, but his opinion was colored by the presence of the man who meant more to him than the world itself. And if Angel didn’t want him around, then why would he want to stick around? Still. He hadn’t expected his Sire to be up on the roof. The blonde didn’t know it was the place Angel always went to think when things were looking kind of grim. 

Spike smiled softly to himself as he considered how things had turned out. He’d been talked down and given a home; a home for which he’d been searching since what seemed like an eternity. There were still a lot of unknown variables, such as Angel’s human family as well as Angel. The man was decidedly different than he’d been as Angelus, and not just in the obvious ways. The soul had changed him, softened him…but it also seemed to have made him a little saner. All win-win in Spike’s book, but it left him feeling a little unsure of his footing. 

Sighing silently, Spike rolled gently out of the bed, making sure not to disturb Angel and wake him accidentally. All he had to go on were the old rules, and he’d do his best to abide by them even if some of those rules mortified him now. As a fledgling, the rules had been comforting, easy to remember, and a type of guarantee between a Sire and his Childe. Now, as a Master vampire himself, Spike didn’t know how to take the rules. Some seemed juvenile, others ridiculous…truly designed for a fledgling. There were other rules that made perfect sense to obey pretty much all the time, because they kept a vampire safe. The rules about avoiding Slayers and demon hunters…the rules about fighting and how to fight…and the rules that aided a vampire in avoiding revealing their weaknesses: those all made sense. The other rules…the ones that weren’t really geared towards being safe and staying alive…those were the ones Spike felt confused over. How much subservience was Angel going to require? Angelus, the blonde remembered, required nothing less than perfection. But Angel had already proven he was more lenient than he’d been as Angelus. 

Some prime examples included the fact that Spike had been allowed to use nicknames and be his usual sarcastic self without repercussions, as well as treat Angel as an equal in nearly all the interactions the two of them had shared with the humans. The only time Angel pulled rank on him was when he’d used Spike’s training to make a point. And then the point being made had nothing to do with Spike. 

His mouth quirking in a half-smile, Spike released a slightly exasperated sigh. He was annoyed with himself, and rightly so. There was no need for him to make all this fuss over what Angel may or may not decide to do. He took a seat cross-legged on the floor, facing the bed, waiting patiently for Angel to wake up. Until he was told otherwise, Spike would obey all the rules Angelus had set him—whether they were rules designed for fledglings or not. 

Angel turned on to his side, his eyes half-open. He expected to come face-to-face with William—Spike, he told himself firmly—but the blonde wasn’t in the bed. Instantly awake, he sat up in one fluid motion and looked around the room without seeming to do so, and sighed in relief as he saw his Childe sitting cross-legged on the floor. “What are you doing on the floor, Spike?”

The blonde blinked at him in obvious confusion. “Isn’t one of the rules not to spend more time in the bed than I do asleep?” 

Angel started in surprise at that. He hadn’t really thought about the rules he’d established as Angelus in…well…since he’d been Angelus, really. Most of the ones he’d set for his Childer had been designed for fledglings, not master vampires. “Not all the rules are still applicable, Spike. I thought I said that last night.” 

Spike frowned in concentration. “Aye. That you did, Peaches. But you never said which rules were different, ‘cept for the no huntin’ one.” 

At the mention of hunting, Angel said, a bit more harshly than he intended, “And no hunting is exactly what I meant.” 

“Wasn’t plannin’ on lookin’ for a snack, Peaches. You wake up on the wrong side of the bed or somethin’?” 

At the wry tone in his Childe’s voice, Angel felt all his irritation melt away and he shook his head in amusement. “No, I didn’t. I just don’t like the idea of you hunting.” 

“Oy! Peaches, this is me. William. Not bloody likely to disobey a direct order, now am I?” Spike met Angel’s chocolate eyes with his blue ones, willing his Sire to understand that he wasn’t going to hunt again. He’d do what Angel did and live off blood banks and animal blood. If it was good enough for his Sire, then it was damn well good enough for him. 

Angel sighed. “I know, William. We’ll just have to go through the rules as we get to them.” 

“Speaking of rules, am I right in thinkin’ you don’t mind if I stay in the bed longer than when I’m asleep?” 

Rolling his eyes, Angel shook his head before putting voice to his thoughts. “No, I don’t mind you staying in bed longer. You’re not a fledgling anymore, Spike. You know how to take care of yourself. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of lying in a bed without harassing me until I wake up.” 

Spike snorted. “Like I ever harassed you as a fledgling.” 

Angel started at his Childe in disbelief. Did the man really not remember the nights he’d been kicked out of his Sire’s chambers for his inability to settle down? Judging by the look on Spike’s face, he either didn’t remember or was choosing to pretend it had never happened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“What?” 

“Spike, the only reason I even gave you that rule was because you were bouncy as a fledgling. It was impossible for me to sleep with you in the same bed, you slept so badly.” 

“Oy! I wasn’t that bad, Peaches!” 

“You were a nightmare!”

“Was not!” 

“Yes, you were.” Angel’s amusement faded as he remembered why William was such a fitful sleeper. “You had just cause in those days. Delia haunted your dreams.” 

Spike’s expression instantly became guarded and tense. “Delia was a nightmare.” 

Angel nodded. “I know.” 

Silence stretched between them. Neither of them wanted to relive those days. Delia had been a true renegade. She’d tried to seduce William into betraying Angelus, and had nearly succeeded. By giving William the one thing he craved more than anything else—love and approval—she’d neatly wormed her way into his heart and nearly torn the Aurelius clan apart. Angelus caught wind of what was happening and pulled his Childe from the woman’s snare just in time to prevent it from closing over his own head. For two weeks after the incident, William hadn’t been able to move. Angelus didn’t take kindly to betrayal, and although William hadn’t betrayed him entirely, it had been close enough to warrant the hardest punishment the blonde ever endured. 

“Peaches, can I get dressed without permission, too, or is that still a rule?” Spike’s question broke through Angel’s thoughts. A good thing, too, because the blonde in no way wanted his Sire thinking about the incident with Delia. 

Angel let out a sigh of fond exasperation. “No, you don’t need permission to get dressed. You’re a Master, Childe, so I trust you to make judgment calls on which rules do and do not still apply. Any more questions?”

Spike grinned at him. “Nah. Think that got all of them.” He pulled on his jeans and the shirt Angel had gifted him with before pulling his duster on. He scratched his arm through the duster and said off-handedly, “Guess I need to wash these soon. Three days in one outfit is a bit much, even for me.” 

Angel wrinkled his nose. “I don’t have anything your size, either.” At Spike’s disbelieving stare, he continued. “I still have all of your old clothes, but it’s all in storage.” 

“Okay. So give me the keys to the storage facility and I’ll run out and get them.” 

Angel shook his head. “You seem to have forgotten you’re confined to the hotel. Besides, the storage facility is in Florida.” 

“You left all my stuff in Florida, Peaches?” The tone in Spike’s voice could only be described as pouting. 

Angel laughed. “Yes, well, I didn’t think you would be coming back to claim it. None of it really fits your new style.” 

Spike scrunched up his forehead at that and nodded. “Yeah, I reckon’ you’re right. All the stuff you had was what I wore as William. I prefer this look now.” 

“Yeah, I figured. I’ll buy you some clothes tonight so you can wash those. I assume you’re still the same size.” 

Spike looked almost offended. “Peaches. Really. Do you think so little of me?” 

Angel laughed aloud. 

“One thing I have always done is taken care of my body. You know that.” 

“Considering I beat it into you, I’m not surprised. But it’s never possible to be too careful.” 

Spike grunted. “Speakin’ of keepin’ in shape, you sure you haven’t gained a couple pounds yourself, Peaches? Right around the midline?” He ducked the alarm clock Angel threw his way and grinned unabashedly at his Sire. 

“Go downstairs and help Cordelia.” 

“Aye.” 

As Spike neared the door, Angel remembered Gunn. “On second thought, I have a different job for you, since you proved you can handle humans so well.” 

Groaning, the blonde turned back to his Sire. “You aren’t going to make me talk to the watcher again, are you? Cuz it’s not very flatterin’ to be told you don’t look like yourself.” 

“No, Spike. Not the watcher. Gunn. He’s been drinking himself under the table for the past couple of months. He’s been so badly inebriated he hasn’t been able to help us on the last few cases we had. I’m hoping you might know a way to get him out of his bottle the way you get Wesley out of his books.” 

Spike grinned broadly. “No worries, mate! I’ll have him sober again in no time.” He turned to leave, then realized he didn’t know what room Gunn was in. “I might need to know his Room number,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“326. And Spike.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You don’t have to worry about scaring him. Might do him some good.” 

“Aye.” Spike felt a bit excited. He was going to be useful and now Angel was even going to allow him to have a little fun with the humans. 

“No biting!” Angel called as Spike made his way down the hall. 

“Spoilsport!” Spike called back, but in a way that let Angel know he’d received the message loud and clear. Now he just had to figure out a way to convince a demon hunter to stop drinking and hunt demons again. Hopefully not at the expense of himself, but Spike knew his Sire would never send him headfirst into something that could get him killed without warning him. He made his way to Room 326, a spring in his step that hadn’t been there a couple days ago. It felt good to have a home again. It really did.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel finds Spike about to commit suicide and pulls him away from the brink by invoking Sire's rights. He offers him a home and a chance to prove himself, something Spike has been aching for for over a century.

**Chapter Six**

The stench coming from Room 326 was so powerful even Spike couldn’t handle it, and he’d been in his fair share of frat houses. It was obvious from the smells exuding from the room that Gunn hadn’t showered in at least a week and, from what Spike could see when he opened the unlocked door, pretty much everything in the room was covered in vomit. Maybe even some other bodily fluids, but Spike wasn’t interested in finding out more. 

He felt a twinge of guilt as he stepped over the threshold uninvited. The supposed law that prevented him from entering someone’s residence without an invitation was a hoax, something vampires had made up in order to make humans feel safer. Somehow it had gone from being a joke to something they actually tried to abide by—yet another way to hide their true weaknesses from the humans that would hunt them. Spike didn’t think Gunn would mind, or even notice, since the slow thush-thush heartbeat he could hear was a good indication the man was drunk. How Angel expected him to do anything with a man so drunk was beyond him. If Gunn was sober, or only on his first beer of the night, Spike was sure he could have thought of something. But this…he scrunched up his nose as he looked around the room, careful not to step in the piles of vomit scattered across the floor…this was something even he couldn’t fix. 

At least, not like this. An idea began to form in his head, but he’d need Angel’s approval before going ahead with it. What he was considering was in no way polite, but it would do the job. Sighing, he backed out of the room without even bothering to check on the hunter. There was nothing he could do for a man so far gone. Seeing Gunn in such a horrible state made him quiet and reflective as he went downstairs to the desk where Cordelia and Wesley were talking. Spike couldn’t even find it in him to muster a greeting. 

Cordelia and Wesley didn’t notice Spike enter the main hallway, but Angel, who had just come from Fred’s room on the first floor, certainly did. The blonde seemed withdrawn and upset. Maybe he can’t do it, after all. Angel frowned. That certainly shouldn’t have been the case. Spike had an uncanny ability to pull people back from the brink, to make them confront their problems even when all they wanted to do was run away from them. If his Childe was having a problem with that, he’d never actually tell anyone. It would be too embarrassing. 

Spike caught sight of Angel about the same time the elder vampire caught sight of him. The blonde breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to have to hunt his Sire down in order to explain his plan. The plan he had in mind required permission to orchestrate, because it could potentially harm a member of Angel’s human family. If anything, his Sire might want to put the plan in action himself, since he was less likely to go off the handle if he was the one inflicting the damage. 

“Peaches,” Spike said, motioning for Angel to follow him down the hallway away from Wesley and Cordelia. He didn’t need the two of them to overhear what it was he had planned. 

Angel followed, his curiosity piqued. He stopped when Spike did, leaning comfortably against the wall. “What is it, Spike?” 

The blonde shifted uncomfortably. “When you said he was pissed, I didn’t realize you meant he was living in his own filth and completely oblivious to anything but the beer in his hand.” His tone was slightly accusatory, like he thought Angel had given him a task beyond his skills. 

“I told you he’d been drinking himself under the table for the last couple of months.”

“Aye, but you didn’t mention you meant it in a literal sense, Peaches,” Spike said, his normal wry humor back, all the accusation gone form his voice. He’d realized that accusing his Sire of being dishonest was a little like rubbing a cat’s fur the wrong way, and would also give Angel a reason to punish him. Considering what those punishments used to entail, Spike wasn’t quite sure he was ready to face one so soon. 

“And?” Angel was growing impatient. Had Spike pulled him over here just to complain? If he had, well…a certain blonde vampire would be in for a world of trouble. 

“And there’s no way I can do anything with him the way he is right now.” 

“Spike, I swear, if you pulled me over here just to tell me you can’t do something, I will-

“I have an idea,” Spike interrupted, not liking the tone Angel was taking. That was his ‘get to the point before I get the whip’ tone, and he hated that tone more than anything else. “But I’m not sure you’ll like it.” 

Angel’s face tightened as he stared down at his Childe, secretly relishing how the look made Spike nervous, and dreading what the man might have dreamed up. “What is this plan?” 

Spike closed his eyes, taking a moment to compose himself. “I reckon’ since Gunn’s so bloody pissed, he won’t notice much if a demon kidnaps him. And if he sobers up to a bad situation, maybe it’ll get him to pull his head out of his ass.” 

The elder vampire frowned, thinking hard. Spike had a point. If Gunn was forced to confront a bad situation, then he’d have to confront his problems with drinking once and for all. The idea had merit. But the human was a demon hunter with more tricks up his sleeve than Angel cared to know about. For a fleeting second, he was worried for Spike, but it passed when he reminded himself that Spike was a Master, and did know how to take care of himself in a fight. Almost too well, he thought ruefully, rubbing his side as he remembered his run-in with the hot poker. “All right.” 

“I’m surprised you’re giving me the go ahead, Peaches.” Spike searched Angel’s face for a long time, looking for something he couldn’t name, and since he didn’t know quite what he was looking for, couldn’t find it. All he knew was that he’d expected the elder vampire to put up more resistance.

“Why?” 

“Just thought you’d be concerned I’d hurt your human, that’s all.” 

“Spike.” 

“Aye?” 

“Why would I be concerned about that?” 

Spike blinked. “Wha-

“You’re my Childe, William. You can’t hurt anyone without my permission. Or had you forgotten that?” 

Spike scowled, hating the reminder. “Oy! Why’d you have to go and put it like that?” he said, his voice coming out in a whine. 

Angel shook his head in amusement. Trust Spike to act offended and childish at the same time. “You can hurt him a little, just enough to scare him. And by a little, I mean by human standards, not ours.” 

“I figured that, mate. Since I can’t leave the hotel, where should I take the hunter?” 

“You can use the basement, Spike. I trust you can find your own way?” 

Spike rolled his eyes as his Sire walked away and paused a moment before he followed the man back out to the main office. He walked past the humans and on down the hall until he found the service elevator. It was far enough away from Cordelia and Wesley that the two of them wouldn’t hear anything. Now he just had to fix up the basement into a lair. No sense in putting a plan into action without a setting that would induce fear. He hummed to himself as he rode the elevator down to the basement. Tonight was going to be fun. And tomorrow night was going to be even better; he could feel it in his bones.

 

Gunn came to with a groan. He tried to reach a hand up to rub his temple, hangover kicking in full force, but found that he couldn’t. He tugged hard a few times with his wrist until the realization that he was firmly bound completely sank in. The chair he was tied to was made of a cold metal and when he tried to rock it backwards, he found that the legs were bolted firmly into the floor. Whoever had taken the time to kidnap him had taken the time to do the job right. There was no way he could escape the prison that’d been set up for him. The rope digging into his wrists that prevented him from freeing himself was also digging into his ankles—his captor or captors obviously weren’t leaving anything to chance. 

The past couple of months were a blur to Gunn. If he’d manage to piss someone off, human or otherwise, he didn’t remember it. With any luck, his captor was human. Remembering the lawyers of Wolfram & Hart, Gunn winced and conceded that some humans were worse than any demons. The situation, in any case, was not a good one to be in, especially considering how badly his head was pounding. 

He’d known ever since he’d started drinking that it was foolish to continue, but he was never able to talk himself out of drinking that first beer. And once that first beer was gone, so were the other eleven. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d realized that going through a twelve pack of beer a night wasn’t healthy. It even bordered on the edge of addiction, if he was being honest with himself. Gunn groaned, wishing he could think more clearly, but the pounding in his head wasn’t likely to let up any time soon. Hangovers were stubborn that way. 

Still, he hadn’t thought his drinking problem—and it was a problem, he could at least admit that much—would lead to something like this. Nothing he’d done…or at least, nothing that he could remember…had been so bad as to warrant a need for retribution. And seeing that whoever he’d pissed off thought he deserved retribution on such a grand scale was a bit unnerving.

From what he could tell, he was being held in the cellar or basement of an industrial building. Metal tables that looked suspiciously like autopsy tables stretched from one end of the room to the other, all perfectly aligned in the center. Each table had its own instrument table full of surgical instruments. The only thing that didn’t truly fit into the room was Gunn and the chair he was tied to. There were no other chairs in the room and there were most certainly no other victims. Whoever he’d made angry definitely had no qualms about imparting his anger to the hunter. 

Seeing all the surgical implements and tables made Gunn nervous; a feeling he wasn’t very accustomed to having. He also wasn’t accustomed to being out of control of his body, a fact which wasn’t lost on him. Surgical instruments only ever meant one thing, and that one thing was torture. Whoever he’d insulted or angered in his drunken state meant business. That thought caused Gunn to start sweating. He longed to yell, to scream for help, but with his luck it would bring either his captor—a person he was sure he wanted to avoid at all costs, judging by the room’s contents—or no one at all. His desire to scream was also slightly hampered by the gag in his mouth. Judging by the taste, it was a hastily thrown together rag, probably a used sock or bandana. The thought repulsed him, but he could do nothing about the horrible taste invading his mouth. For a fleeting second, he was surprised that his captor hadn’t blindfolded him as well, but that passed when he realized that drinking in the sight of the tables and the tools was an effective psychological trick. 

But Gunn was stubborn. He wouldn’t give in easily. His head might throb and he might feel like vomiting, but he’d spent the last two months drinking. It had toughened him; it made him invulnerable. This feeling of invulnerability was the reason he couldn’t stop drinking. Nothing could touch him when he was downing a beer. It was like the whole world just faded away. His hangover would get the better of him before his captor did, Gunn swore. No matter who was on the business end of one of those surgical tools, he wouldn’t talk. He’d go out without surrendering his dignity. 

There weren’t many things in his life he regretted. Not being honest about his past with his co-workers was the main one. But he wasn’t going to rehash that. Not now. Not while he still had a chance to get out of this alive. As long as the person responsible for his capture was human, when they undid the ropes to move him from the chair to a table, that’s when he’d have his chance. And he’d take it, too. He wasn’t a weak man—far from it. Hunting demons and vampires for a living was definitely an incentive for staying in shape. Being able to jump a wall or throw a conveniently placed boulder in order to stun, confuse, or kill his quarry was sometimes the only reason he didn’t become the prey. Some lessons, especially the ones about how to stay alive, weren’t ones that were easily forgotten. 

Gunn sighed, relaxing into his bonds. Whoever had captured him wasn’t present. With the rope securing him, Gunn certainly wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. All he had left to do was wait for his captor to come to him. And pray to whatever God he believed in that he’d be dealing with a human. If a demon had come to take revenge on him…well, he wasn’t sure he was quite ready to contemplate that.

 

Spike stood in the shadows of the basement that he’d converted to look like a high-grade hospital morgue, minus the storage units for bodies. There hadn’t been enough time for that, and it’d been hard enough to get the right kind of tables and tools without making Angel suspicious. It meant he’d had to disobey his Sire’s direct order about staying in the hotel without express permission, but if this was going to be effective, it was worth the risk. Or at least, it seemed to be worth the risk. After he’s through with me, I’m sure I’ll be singing a different tune. But, for right now, what Angel didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Or me, Spike thought sardonically. 

He watched as Gunn came to; watched as the man tested the limits of his captivity; watched as Gunn took in the room he had been left in. Everything was designed to inflict the highest amount of psychological terror possible. Doing anything to Gunn tonight would be pointless. Spike was going to have to allow time for the alcohol clogging the human’s arteries to clear itself out of Gunn’s system before he proceeded. While Gunn was still under the influence of the alcohol, if only because it hadn’t had time to flush itself out, he wouldn’t respond correctly to any external stimuli. Especially torture. 

Spike grinned to himself as he thought the word. Torture. Sure, Angel had said he was only allowed to inflict a little pain on the human, but every human’s endurance level was different. If he got lucky, Gunn would have a very high pain tolerance, and he’d be able to use some of the more interesting techniques Angelus had taught him. 

The blonde sighed, dismissing that at once. While getting the tables and the tools had been willful disobedience, he’d done it in order to fulfill one of Angel’s requests: to help Gunn. Torturing him wouldn’t help, and it would piss his Sire off. Maybe even enough to send him back to Sunnydale. Or worse, reconsider his refusal of Spike meeting the sun. No, Spike would keep things at an acceptable level. If he couldn’t get through to the hunter with this method, Angel would be on his own with his human.   
Shaking his head to clear it, Spike slipped out of the shadows and out of the room entirely. Gunn would have to stew for a day or two before the alcohol completely cleared itself out of his system. And if the man had to stew in his own stench for a bit longer, Spike considered that a bonus. After spending ten hours scrubbing Gunn’s hotel room from top to bottom on Angel’s orders, the blonde felt completely justified and maybe a trifle vindicated about letting the man experience his own filth firsthand. Without the benefit of alcohol to numb him to how disgusting he truly was. 

Spike hummed under his breath as he rode the elevator to the top floor, pleased that it was silent. It didn’t even ding to announce each floor, but that suited Spike’s purposes just fine. He didn’t want Gunn realizing he was close to an elevator, because elevators spelled hope. And hope, for a human, spelled a lifeline, a thread to hang onto. He’d been careful to place the human facing away from the elevator and had even taken the care to cover the entire wall the elevator was on with large mobile marker boards. As long as Gunn didn’t think escape or rescue was close by, everything would go smoothly, as planned. 

Spike walked towards the reception area of the hotel where the whole gang seemed to hang out with a bit of a spring in his step. It felt good to be doing something bad again, even if it would eventually be something done for the greater good. Carnage, destruction, mayhem—all of them were necessary for a vampire of his caliber. Or his tastes, he wasn’t quite sure which.   
Angel was waiting for him, a scowl on his face, which instantly killed the slight spring Spike had going on. If his Sire was scowling, then he must know… 

“Spike, where the hell have you been? I thought I told you to clean Gunn’s room, not go gallivanting all over the hotel.” Angel’s anger was palpable. 

Spike breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, he’d thought Angel knew about the basement setup. It wouldn’t surprise him—Angelus always had an uncanny ability to tell when his Childe was doing something to get himself in trouble. “I finished that hours ago, mate. Thought I’d take a walk around to clear my head.” 

Angel grunted. “Can’t say I blame you. That place was awful.” 

Spike scowled. “Don’t gotta tell me that, mate. I was the one who had to clean it.” 

Angel let out a snort of amusement, taking in the sight of the man before him. Spike looked calm, calmer than he had since the night he’d pulled him off the roof of the skyscraper. There was a sort of quiet acceptance that had come over the blonde that hadn’t been there before, but Angel was hard-pressed to place when it had come into being. There was no telling with William. When he felt he fit in, he did so with a quiet grace that few associated with his ill-gotten manner and style. Apparently, getting the watcher out of his books had done Spike as much good as it had done the watcher. “It in motion now?” he asked, keeping his voice at a sub-human decibel. 

“Aye, Peaches. Reckon’ I gotta give it a day or two, ‘fore it’s completely flushed outta his system,” Spike returned, just as low. 

Neither one of them wanted the other humans to become concerned about Gunn. That would create questions. Questions neither one wanted to answer…questions they weren’t sure they could answer, in all honesty. 

“All right. But no more than two. Think it’ll work?” 

Spike looked almost affronted. “Course it will, Peaches. Way I got things set up down there, he’ll be grateful to talk.”   
Angel scowled. “No torture.” 

“Aye, mate. No torture. Just gonna make him think I’mma torture him. That all right?” 

“Fine.”

“Ta for that.” 

Angel couldn’t help it; he laughed. His Childe was so infuriating it was all he could do not to revert to old ways and pull out the whip he had hidden in his closet. But William was a Master. He couldn’t resort to punishing him the way he’d done as when he’d been a fledgling if he wanted to keep the man’s respect. And he valued Spike’s respect, oddly enough. It’d been a long time since he’d actually cared about the opinion of anyone outside himself, but Spike’s opinion mattered. A lot, if he was being honest.

Spike sighed. He was going to have to tell Angel sooner or later about the tables. From past experience, the sooner he told him, the less trouble he’d be in and the more lenient the punishment. He didn’t want to test Angel, but he did. He needed to know the man was still going to be responsible for him the way he had been in the past. But he didn’t want to cross any unnecessary boundaries, either. “Sire, I need to speak to you,” he said, hoping his tone came across respectful and sincere and not sullen. He was never really sure how he sounded when he was trying to be respectful, but it seemed to go awry on him quite often. 

Angel frowned down at his Childe. Spike seemed incredibly nervous and was shuffling his feet the way he always had in the past when William had done something without getting Angelus’ permission first. “Childe?” he returned. 

“I uh…sort of left the hotel.” 

Angel closed his eyes hard against the rage that threatened to consume him. He needed to listen to Spike’s explanation, to learn the rationale behind his Childe’s disobedience, without leaping instantly to outrage. “Why?” he asked, voice coming out strangled. 

Spike swallowed hard. If Angel was having trouble controlling his anger, then he was really in trouble. He knew staying in the hotel had been a rule, but he hadn’t realized it’d been one of the major ones. “I needed to get some equipment for the basement.” 

Angel forced himself to breathe, to count to ten, as he considered his Childe’s reasoning. He knew, logically, that the hotel wouldn’t have supplied the kind of materials Spike needed for the session with Gunn, but that didn’t negate his anger. His Childe had willfully disobeyed him for no real reason. If Spike had come to him, Angel would have given the man permission to acquire the materials in question, but the blonde hadn’t seen fit to inform him. “When?” 

“About an hour before you told me I had to clean Gunn’s room. I didn’t know how long it would take for him to wake up, and I needed everything to be ready.” 

“Okay.” 

Spike’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Okay? But, Sire-

“That wasn’t a ‘don’t worry about it’ okay, Spike.”

Spike nodded his head once, accepting his Sire’s decision. 

“Meet me on the roof in an hour.” Angel took in the sight of his Childe, standing there in one of Angel’s shirts and dirty jeans. Suddenly, he felt inexplicably angry that Spike was wearing any of his clothing. “Give me my shirt.” 

Spike locked gazes with Angel for a full minute, weighing his options. The shirt had been a gift. One he’d earned. The only piece of clothing Angel had ever let him near, and probably the last one he’d ever see if he disobeyed his Sire in something so simple. He lowered his eyes, properly submissive, took off the shirt and handed it gently to Angel without a word. 

“I’m not taking this away irrevocably, William,” Angel said, his nerves beginning to settle. Spike had disobeyed him, but he was going to be punished, and everything would be fine. The blonde hadn’t done anything to reject his Sire’s right to punish him, and that helped calm Angel more than anything.

At those words, Spike’s eyes met his hopefully. Did that mean he could earn the shirt back? He knew it was stupid, how wrapped he was in a piece of fabric, but he couldn’t help it. This was the man who meant everything him—the man he’d followed halfway around the world just to earn a place by his side. If he failed to do that much, then at least having a piece of Angel’s clothing would serve as a sort of consolation prize. 

Angel sighed. “I’m not happy with you right now. If you’d come to me about the materials, I probably would have given you permission to leave and get them. Instead, you took your matters into your own hands. You know how I feel about that kind of thing, Spike. So the only way I can see this is as a deliberate act of disobedience.” 

Spike didn’t dignify that with an answer; he didn’t have to. 

“An hour. On the roof. And you’ll have the proof you need that I’ll rein you in whenever you step out of bounds.” 

“Yes, Sire,” Spike said. Without waiting for a dismissal, he disappeared around the corner. He didn’t want to spend the hour his Sire had given him assessing the man, trying to figure out which punishment Angel would use. Whatever punishment Angel chose to inflict, he’d accept it, the way he’d accepted all the other punishments he’d been given in the past.   
No, the hour Angel had given him he would spend with Cordelia and Wesley, playing cards. At least that would take his mind off what was coming. He rounded the corner and found himself face to face with the member of the investigative team he hadn’t met yet. 

“Wh-o a-rrr-ee y-oo-uu?” the redhead stuttered. 

Spike looked around, hoping to find Cordelia or Wesley, but neither human was around. “I’m Spike,” he said. “Who might you be, then, red?” 

The redhead giggled. “I’m F-rr-e-d, b-uu-t y-oo-uu c-aan ca-llll m-eee R-ee-d.” 

The blonde vampire smiled, acutely aware that stuttered speech was normally associated with nerves, and hoped that by being   
friendly he could calm the girl down. “Aye. Red it is then. Wes and Cordy leave then?” 

“No,” Cordelia said, coming into view. “Fred, you’re out of your room!” 

Fred nodded nervously, but made no move to speak. 

Wesley wasn’t far behind Cordelia and came into the reception area with a mug of coffee in his hand. “Spike, weren’t you cleaning Gunn’s room?” 

“Aye, mate. I finished.” 

The watcher nodded. “Take long?” 

“Too bloody long, mate. Ten hours is a long time for a vamp to have to hold his nose.” 

Fred spoke up then. “You’re a vampire?” Her nerves seemed to have vanished, to be replaced with a certain kind of awed curiosity. 

“Aye, Red. I’m a vampire. Not like Angel though. No soul.” 

Letting out a little ‘eep,’ Fred jumped back. She turned to Cordelia and whispered, rather loudly, “If he doesn’t have a soul, doesn’t that mean he’s a bad guy?” 

Cordelia paused. “I’m not really sure, Fred. Angel says he’s a good guy. But you’re right, he doesn’t have a soul. I’d be careful around him. He’s horrible at cards.” 

“Oy! Ducks, I’m standing right here!” 

Cordelia smiled unrepentantly. “Uh-huh. And?” 

Spike planted his hands on his hips in mock anger. “If I’m so bad at cards, then you wouldn’t mind me challenging you to a game, eh, Ducks?” 

Cordelia laughed. “Not at all. Wes, mind grabbing the cards?” 

The watcher looked up from his coffee. “Huh? Oh. Yeah. One moment.” He placed the mug down on the counter and   
disappeared behind it, re-emerging a few seconds later with a pack of cards in hand. “What game are we playing?” 

Fred eyed Spike speculatively. “If he’s playing cards, I suppose he must be a good guy.” 

Angel walked through the room and back into it as he realized Fred was out of hers. “Hey, Fred. This is new.” 

Fred smiled, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her head. “Yes. I thought it might do me some good to come out of my room. And I have a question that I think we all would like the answer to.” 

“And what is that, Fred?” 

The redhead pointed at Spike. “Is he a good guy or a bad guy?” 

Spike scowled. “Oy! I’m standing right here, Red.” 

Angel laughed. “Red? What is it with you and nicknames?” 

The blonde shrugged. He didn’t really have a good answer for that. 

Fred spoke. “Angel, I’d really like an answer please.” 

Angel looked at the blonde thoughtfully, then at Fred. “He’s both.” 

“Oy!” 

“What?” Angel was unrepentant. 

“How am I both?” 

Angel grunted in amusement. “You’re a vampire. You have no soul. That makes you a bad guy.” 

“Oy!” 

“So what makes him good?” Fred asked. 

Angel smiled then, a slow, feral smile. “I do.” 

Spike shivered at the promise in those words, and the threat. He lowered his eyes submissively, recognizing the claim for what it was. 

Cordelia frowned. “You want to explain that to us, Angel?” 

Angel sighed. “Sure. He’s my Childe. I’m his Sire. He has to obey me.”

“Is this another one of those weird vampire things I’m not going to understand?” Cordelia asked, her nose wrinkling. 

Bemused, Angel nodded his head. Cordelia rolled her eyes in distaste and started dealing cards. No one wanted to have another in-depth conversation about vampire lore, her least of all. 

Spike breathed an uneasy sigh of relief, glancing at Angel out of the corner of his eye, and picked up the hand he’d been dealt.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel finds Spike about to commit suicide and pulls him away from the brink by invoking Sire's rights. He offers him a home and a chance to prove himself, something Spike has been aching for for over a century.

**Chapter Seven**

An hour passed and Angel and Spike extracted themselves skillfully from the card game. The blonde followed his Sire silently. He knew he deserved whatever punishment was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier to walk the last few steps onto the roof of the building. 

“William,” Angel said, voice low. “I take my responsibilities towards you as your Sire seriously. Disobeying me has consequences for a reason. Do you remember what those are?” 

Spike swallowed hard, the words bringing up memories of a time he’d have sooner cut off his own foot than disobeyed his sire.

But Angel was a different man now; changed, somehow. It had been far easier to disobey him than the blonde had expected. There had been no twinge of guilt, no remorse for acting against Angel’s wishes—just a momentary relief. And the fact he’d felt relief when he disobeyed his Sire scared him. In the past, he’d only ever felt guilt and fear about Angelus discovering his transgressions. Now that this was happening, all he could feel was relief.

Relief that he would finally know how this new version of Angel would handle his transgressions; it surged through him to the point it nearly made him sag, he felt it so strongly. “Yes, Sire,” he said simply, finding voice enough to answer the question his Sire had given him. 

Angel frowned at his Childe. “Would you like me to detail them for you?” He was beginning to get annoyed. If Spike didn’t start treating this punishment properly…he let that thought hang. This was new territory for them both and this would be the first time he’d punished Spike since the blonde had become a Master. Different types of punishments were required now. 

Spike took a shaky breath, then opened his mouth to speak. “Your rules keep me safe, Sire. Disobeying them, even ones I disagree with or don’t understand, could end with me being hurt. The rules are there, not to restrict me, but to save me from myself.” 

Angel was satisfied with that. At least his Childe hadn’t forgotten the basics. “All right. Kneel. I’ll be back in a moment.” He didn’t even look back to make sure the blonde was following his instructions. The man either would or wouldn’t obey him. And if it was the latter, the punishment he had planned would only get worse. 

Spike fell to his knees almost clumsily. It had been a long time since he’d last found himself in such a position of disgrace. He folded his hands on his lap, trying to calm down. The impending punishment was sure to be a harsh one, but he deserved it. He had disobeyed his Sire willfully; something he hadn’t done since he was a fledgling. 

His thoughts turned to his Sire. Where had the man disappeared to? How long was his Sire going to leave him up on the roof? Was this to be the extent of his punishment? Kneeling, for hours? It seemed a little pale in the face of Angelus’ preferred punishments and it was incredibly boring. Spike shifted his weight from knee to knee, doing his best to make sure his legs and ankles didn’t go numb or stiff, just in case this was only the warm-up punishment. 

After what seemed like hours, but was in reality only twenty minutes, Angel came back onto the roof. And, by the sound he was making as he walked towards Spike, he hadn’t come back empty handed. 

At that thought, Spike felt his stomach turn over. It was a good thing he hadn’t fed yet, or he’d have been sick. Fear consumed him. His transgression hadn’t been a little one, something that could be forgiven with a couple hours of kneeling time. He knew that logically, but something inside him had hoped that this Angel was a gentler man than he’d been as Angelus. Something that didn’t make sense, really, considering Angelus was the man he’d chased for over a century. 

“Lie down flat on your stomach. Bend your knees up so that the soles of your feet are facing straight up.” As Angel gave each instruction, Spike obeyed instantly. He did not want to earn a more severe punishment. Angel placed a wooden block behind the blonde’s legs. It was specifically designed for the punishment he had in mind; one that Spike wasn’t going to like. If Angel recalled things correctly, this was the punishment the blonde hated the most. 

Spike struggled to remain where he was when he felt the block hit the back of his legs. It was a familiar device, one he wished he could burn. The wood was cool against his legs and came to rest right underneath his ankles, allowing his feet to lie comfortably on the top of it. Such comfort was deceptive, he knew, because this device was one used for a specific type of punishment: whipping feet. 

Angel watched as Spike struggled to come to terms with what was happening. He knew the blonde remembered the block, because the man had only ever earned it once as a fledgling. The transgression Spike had committed would have earned him a sound whipping as a fledging, but not a foot whipping. The only thing that had changed was that the blonde had become a Master, so when he disobeyed his Sire, he was doing so with a fuller awareness of the consequences of his actions. Feet whipping was one of the harshest punishments Angel could give his Childe, because vampires relied heavily on their balance and speed for hunting and fighting. Whipping his feet was essentially giving the blonde no choice but to trust Angel to keep him safe from all harm. 

Spike felt his breath start coming in short bursts and he struggled to control it. He hadn’t earned such a punishment in centuries, and, if he remembered right, what he’d done would’ve only warranted a normal whipping. He wasn’t sure if this Angel was kinder or crueler than the Angelus he remembered, because he hadn’t yet received the punishment. It could be Angel only intended to hit his feet a few times, to remind him of his station, but that sounded hollow, even to Spike. 

Angel decided his Childe wasn’t going to move. “Place your hands around your ankles,” he said. This was one of the real tests. If Spike couldn’t do this, they’d have to take it to the next level. To Angel’s surprise and pleasure, the blonde grabbed his ankles immediately, almost as if gripping them for dear life. The other test would be during the punishment itself. Forcing Spike to hold on to his ankles also allowed the blonde to move his feet away from the whip much more easily. If he moved during the whipping, it would spell disaster for him. 

Angel stood for a moment, simply enjoying the sight before him. His Childe, prostrate before him, ready to receive the kiss of his Sire’s whip, was something he hadn’t thought to see again. Watching the blonde struggle not to panic brought a quirked smile to the elder vampire’s lips. For a fleeting second, he wondered what it would be like to dominate Spike for pleasure instead of punishment. He shook the thought away; there was no way the blonde would want to share his bed. They’d both changed too much. He’d gotten softer, more human. And Spike…well, he’d gotten rougher. More jagged around the edges—more vampire. But that appealed to Angel; he liked that his Childe was no longer so pliable. But those thoughts had to wait. Right now, he had to dish out a punishment. One Spike would remember. One that would make the younger vampire think twice about disobeying him again. 

“How long were you gone, Spike?” Angel asked, his voice low. 

“An hour and a half, Sire,” Spike said, answering immediately. He did not want to know how many strokes Angel would add for a delayed response. And, judging by the tone of voice his Sire was using, Spike was really in for a beating. He shuddered at the realization that, no matter how many strokes Angel laid on his feet, he would have to hold himself still for the duration. Since he hadn’t been whipped in over a century except for mutual pleasure between him and other vampires, he wasn’t sure he could hold still. 

“Normally, that’d earn you ninety from my whip, William. But I’m going to be lenient and only go to 45.” 

Spike blinked. His Sire, lenient? Surely, this was not the same man he’d known before. “May I ask why, Sire?” 

Angel grinned at the startled tone in Spike’s voice. He loved that he could still surprise his Childe. “You may. Since this is the first time you’ve been punished in over a century, it seems a little harsh to expect you to be able to take ninety from my whip so soon. Any other questions before I begin?” 

Spike squirmed. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to ask either. Finally, curiosity won out. “Why this punishment, Sire?” he asked, voice soft. He was almost afraid the question would make Angel angry and he didn’t want that to happen. He was in enough trouble as it was. 

Angel sighed. “You’re a Master now, Spike. You don’t have the luxury of hiding behind being new to this life.” 

“Yes, Sire,” Spike said, accepting the answer and the punishment in one breath. He would take this punishment without moving, even if it killed him, simply because Angel thought he deserved it. And the man was right, he really didn’t have a reason to be disobedient. Not a good one. He’d been Angelus’ favored Childe for nearly a century before the man disappeared, so he knew what was expected of him. 

Angel cracked the whip experimentally against his hand. God, it felt great to be doing something inhuman again; something the others wouldn’t understand. This punishment was a good way for him to let out his frustration, to vent about everything that happened. The greatest thing about it was that the only person he’d be hurting was Spike, who had angered him by disobeying him anyway. The good thing about vampires, he thought as he took the first swing at the blonde’s exposed feet, is that there was no such thing as too much pain. No matter how much pain he inflicted on Spike, the blonde would take it, and would heal from it. There was nothing quite like cracking a whip over his Childe to let out all the pent-up frustration with work and the communication problems he was having with his team. 

Spike jerked against the block when the first stroke landed and had to force himself to keep his ankles in place. The whipping was a lot more painful than he remembered and he gritted his teeth as hard as he could in an effort to stifle himself. Screaming probably wasn’t a good idea, but he longed to let out a bloodcurdling one. His feet were on fire. Nothing he’d ever felt in his life felt as bad as that whip coming down on his exposed skin. He longed, so much, to pull them away from the block, to stop the whipping, but he didn’t. He couldn’t, not when he knew that the only thing keeping him from a more severe punishment was his ability to keep his hands in place. Spike knew he had to find a place in his head that would allow him to accept what was happening, but it was hard. And Angel had only gotten to the fifth stroke. 

Forty-five strokes with Angel’s bullwhip was a light punishment, especially since the man had halved it due to the length of time between Spike’s last punishment and his current one. But even five strokes with the bullwhip were not, strictly speaking, light. Every stroke left a trail of fire in its wake, making the blonde wonder if he would even be able to stand after the punishment was over. 

He winced as that thought entered his head. Of course he would be able to stand after the punishment…in fact, that was almost the point of the punishment. Standing, walking…pretty much anything involving his feet was going to cause him pain for days after the punishment was over. A reminder, he thought a bit desperately, that I am to obey my Sire at all times and in all things, but especially about leaving the hotel without his permission.

Spike grunted with each stroke, suppressing his screams with resolve and doing his best to keep his hands in place. He did not want to earn a worse punishment. This one was bad enough. He was keeping count in his head, uncertain as to whether or not Angelus was going to ask him the score. He hoped not, because it was taking all his willpower to grit his teeth and not scream bloody murder. Screaming during a punishment rife with blood would be a good way to attract other vampires and scarier demons. Angel was taking a bit of a risk, punishing him out here on the roof, since blood was a calling card for a lot of nasty creatures. Then again, no one in their right mind would mess with Angelus when he was doling out a punishment to his Childe. Spike reminded himself that Angel was not Angelus, no matter how similar the whipping felt to the one he’d received a century ago. 

“The count, Childe,” Angel said, and his voice had the timbre and cadence unique to his Sire. 

Spike shivered. His Sire might have a soul, but he was definitely still Angelus. His concerns about other night crawlers completely dissipated. “Forty-two, Sire,” he hissed out, doing his best not to grit his teeth. And then, in three strokes that seemed four times harder than the last forty-two, it was over. 

Angel grunted in satisfaction, wrapped the whip up in his hands, and tucked it down the side of his pants. It was smeared with Spike’s blood, but a good washing would take care of that. A washing his Childe would do, ironically. “You can let go of your ankles now,” he said. 

Spike released his ankles with a sigh of relief. He was glad that was over with. 

“You took that well, Childe.” 

The blonde couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at those words. “Thank you, Sire.” 

Angel quirked an eyebrow at his Childe, who had rolled over on his back and was keeping his feet off the ground. “I wouldn’t thank me yet. You have to stand up.” 

Spike groaned and his face fell. “I knew there was something I wasn’t going to like, Peaches,” he said, and it would have come out cheerfully if it hadn’t been for the pain laced through his tone. 

“Spike,” Angel said, his tone hardening. “Stand up.” 

At that tone, Spike obeyed instantly. He kept all his weight on his toes, shifting from foot to foot to try and alleviate the pain radiating from the balls of his foot. 

“Spike.” 

“Yes, Sire?” Spike felt nervous. Was he doing something wrong? He really hoped not, because he wasn’t sure he could take another round with the bullwhip. 

“Do not make me get the led boots.” Angel watched as dawning flared in his Childe’s eyes. The blonde slowly lowered himself down until both heels were firmly planted on the ground. The pain he was feeling had to be off the scale, but he didn’t complain. 

Spike winced as his bloody feet hit the hard concrete of the roof. He’d forgotten the point of the punishment—to make it painful to walk. The whipping itself was just a means to an end. Angel could have broken his toes or both his feet and forced him to walk like that, but he hadn’t. All of a sudden, he felt grateful towards his Sire for choosing the punishment he had. His Sire hadn’t inflicted unnecessary pain on him by breaking bones. Skin healed very quickly. All evidence of the whipping he’d taken would be gone before he woke tomorrow. He winced. At least all the markings would be gone. He’d feel the pain from the whipping when he walked for at least a week. It meant he’d have to interrogate Gunn while he was in pain, which wasn’t an ideal situation. 

Spike looked at Angel, then back down, lowering his eyes submissively. “I’m sorry, Sire,” he said, uttering an apology for the first time. 

Angel looked at him through knowing eyes. “You’re forgiven, William. You can take the rest of the night off.” 

Spike nodded. He didn’t really have a choice. He couldn’t show up at the reception desk of the hotel with bloody feet. “Anything you want me to do?” he asked quietly. 

Angel thought for a moment. Whipping the blonde’s feet hadn’t just been for show. He couldn’t keep an eye on him and deal with his team too, so he would have to trust the blonde to obey him. And considering the punishment he’d just dished out, he was fairly confident his Childe wouldn’t dare question his authority for awhile. “There’s four hours before sunrise.” 

Spike gave his Sire a questioning look, but didn’t speak. 

“Spend them standing.” 

At those words, Spike felt his insides freeze. He was going to have to endure four hours of this pain? He shot a pleading look at his Sire, but the man remained unmoved. Spike sighed. He should’ve expected something like this when he was told his punishment was being halved. “Yes, Sire,” he said. 

The two of them went back in the building, Spike inching his way along. Angel disappeared, leaving him alone in the empty hallway. Spike sighed. He made his way to the elevator and down to the first floor. Somehow he got to Angel’s room without anyone seeing him and leapt, even though it was incredibly painful, to the bathroom. His feet were a bloody mess and if he made Angel mad because he’d sullied the room…well, Spike didn’t even want to consider it. 

He cleaned off his feet, not bothering to be gentle. Yes, they hurt. Yes, rubbing alcohol and disinfectant on them was even more painful. But what would hurt even more would be Angel coming down on him for not cleaning them properly or missing a spot of blood. And Angel would check, Spike was sure of that. 

His feet finally clean and dirty towel properly disposed of; he found his way very carefully to the back right corner of the room, the corner furthest from the door. He grimaced as he settled painfully on his heels, staring out into space. All he had for company for the next few hours was the pain in his feet and the thoughts in his head.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel finds Spike about to commit suicide and pulls him away from the brink by invoking Sire's rights. He offers him a home and a chance to prove himself, something Spike has been aching for for over a century.

**Chapter Eight**

Angel was pleased to find Spike standing in the corner when he came to bed. The night, like the last few, had passed uneventfully. He was beginning to despair of ever having a case. The others needed the money they earned, despite having a permanent place of residence, because he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—dip into blood money in order to support them. At the same time, he was also grateful that the last few days had passed uneventfully. It meant that Cordelia had been given a break from the visions that were slowly killing her. And it was giving him time to get the whole mess with Gunn straightened out. He winced. Thinking of Cordy’s visions and her impending death if they couldn’t find someone who could help her wasn’t the best thought to try and sleep on. Doing his best to shake the morbid thoughts from his head, he turned to his Childe. 

Spike stared at his Sire impassively, waiting silently for permission to move. His feet had long passed the point of being merely painful and gone into the realm of torture. And considering he’d had to force himself to stand in that corner and accept the pain, he had essentially tortured himself on his Sire’s command. Not unusual, in the demon world, but it still had a profound psychological effect. 

Angel stared back, satisfied only when the blonde dropped his eyes subserviently to the floor. “I went out and bought you some clothes. I figured you’d want jeans and tee-shirts, not the style of clothes I wear.” 

“Aye,” Spike said, voice little higher than a whisper. 

Angel sat the shopping bags down on the bed and pulled out three pairs of jeans, four tee-shirts, three sets of two pairs of boxers, and a pack of socks. Spike watched him silently. He wished he could move from his spot against the wall, but he didn’t dare to do so until his Sire gave him permission. 

Angel picked a pair of boxers at random and held them out towards Spike. “Here. Take these. Go take a shower.” 

Spike took the first step out of the corner tentatively, gritting in his teeth as pain flared. He found himself clenching and unclenching his fists, taking deep breaths in an effort to keep himself calm. Slowly, he took the boxers from his Sire’s fingers and inched his way across the floor to the bathroom. Showering seemed like the worst idea in the world right then and also the best. He stunk, and he knew it, and he wanted nothing more than to be rid of his own stench. At the same time, letting water pool around his feet was going to be more torturous than standing in the corner had been. 

Sighing to himself, he forced himself to bear it. Taking a shower would not only get rid of the stench he was carrying on, but cleaning his feet would help prevent any infection. He sat carefully on the edge of the sink and inspected the bottom of his feet. He’d expected the whip marks to have faded by now, but the welts stood out just as proudly as they had four hours before. Trying to consider the situation logically, the reason the whip marks hadn’t faded could simply be due to the fact that they hadn’t gotten any air. Oxygen always helped escalate healing, so having his feet sealed to the floor for the last few hours could be the culprit. 

Eyeing his feet carefully, Spike took a deep breath as the realization set in that something was wrong. Risking Angel’s wrath seemed a bad idea, but Spike wasn’t about to make the same mistake he’d made earlier in not informing Angel. With a barely muffled scream, the blonde forced himself back to his feet and inched his way slowly into the bedroom. 

Angel turned at the sound of his Childe entering the room, frowning. “Didn’t I tell you to take a shower?” 

“Aye.” Spike looked at him through eyes laced with exhaustion only pain could cause. 

“So why haven’t you taken one yet?” 

“Sire, my feet haven’t healed yet.” 

Angel frowned. “Show me.” 

Spike motioned to the bed, silently asking permission to take a seat, and felt immensely relieved when Angel nodded his assent. He sat down on the edge of the bed and scooted backwards, straightening his legs so that Angel could look at his feet, but he made sure he scooted no further than absolutely necessary, which left his feet dangling off the end of the bed. 

Angel crouched at the end of the bed, carefully lifting Spike’s feet to examine them. The blonde was right; they were welted still, and oozing a bit of blood. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. Blood might be a source of sustenance for him, but he hated the mess it made. “You’re still bleeding,” he said disdainfully.

Spike snorted. “Sorry, Peaches. Thought it would’ve stopped by now.” 

The elder vampire scowled and smacked the sole of the foot he held, relishing the pained whimper the blonde made in response. “Have you eaten anything tonight?” 

Spike squirmed uncomfortably. He’d been so busy setting everything up for Gunn’s interrogation that he hadn’t thought about feeding. And then the punishment had come up and it had driven all thought of eating from his mind. Shaking his head, he bit his lip and instinctively titled his neck towards Angel. 

Angel felt his heart go out towards his Childe. The man had been so busy trying to make sure everything went well with the humans, he’d neglected his own health, and by doing so, was suffering needlessly. “No wonder these haven’t healed,” he said, tapping each foot lightly. To his credit, Spike didn’t flinch or squirm away. “Go take your shower,” Angel said abruptly, relinquishing his hold on Spike’s ankles. “We’ll figure this out afterwards.”

“Yes, Sire,” Spike said and carefully picked himself up off the bed. He wasn’t going to call Angel by any nicknames until he was sure the man was as far away from his feet as possible. The smack he’d earned earlier had been warning enough.   
Showering was as painful as he’d expected it to be and he spent no more time in the tub than absolutely necessary. It was probably the quickest shower he’d taken in decades. He pulled on the boxers his Sire had handed him and shuffled back into the bedroom. 

“Sit,” Angel said, motioning to the bed. 

Spike obeyed immediately, not bothering to repress the sigh of relief he felt as he took his weight off his feet. 

Angel sighed, his eyebrows furrowing as he considered the options before him. He could go downstairs and get a few packets of human blood that he got from the blood banks. Normally he made do with animal blood, but he kept a few packets of human blood around for emergencies. It was a good idea, but it wouldn’t help Spike as much as it should’ve. Angel suspected that the Slayer and her friends had been keeping him on the edge of starvation, since he couldn’t kill his prey and they wouldn’t have known to give him more than one pack of animal blood a night. The only humane option—and it was ironic that he was the one trying to figure out the kindest course of action—would be to allow Spike to drink from him. Something he hadn’t done since the man was a fledgling. 

There were complications with that and very few of them had to do with how well Spike would heal. That wasn’t even an issue. No, the concern here was for Angel himself. He’d felt himself growing more and more attached to the blonde in the last few days and the whipping had pretty much cinched it for him. There was no way he’d be able to let the blonde walk out of his life again. Part of him knew that his Childe would be ecstatic about that; in fact, most of him knew that. But there was a minuscule part of him that shied away. He hadn’t shared his life with another being for nearly a century. It required a kind of commitment he wasn’t sure he was ready to make. 

And opening the old Sire-Childe bond by letting Spike drink his blood would force him to face up to his feelings, whether he felt ready to do so or not. Angel sighed, thinking. Spike would probably have qualms of his own, but he wouldn’t protest a decision his Sire made. No vampire would. But Angel wasn’t sure he was ready to bare his soul so completely. Not to anyone, really, but especially not to Spike. 

William always had this uncanny ability to look straight into the heart of the matter of any situation; it’s the biggest reason he’d become Angelus’ favored, and though he’d never told the blonde that, Angel was sure his Childe had known. 

“Want me to go get the human blood you keep in the walk-in cooler, Peaches?” Spike said, breaking into his thoughts. 

Angel met Spike’s startling blue eyes out of shock. Had the man read his thoughts? He assessed the blonde before him, but Spike was obviously in so much pain that trying to psychoanalyze anyone was completely out of the picture. “How do you know about that?” he asked, brain catching up. 

Spike shrugged. “I got bored. Went exploring. Didn’t expect you to have human blood around though.” 

Angel sighed in annoyance. “I only have it in case of emergencies. In case you didn’t notice, the fridge—

“I know, it’s stocked full of pigs blood.” Spike winced. Interrupting his Sire might not have been the best course of action. He tensed, waiting for a blow that never came. 

Angel frowned at his Childe thoughtfully. He could take the easy way out, let his Childe heal by drinking human blood. No one would be the wiser, except himself. Only he would know that he’d chickened out. He sighed. He couldn’t do it. Taking the coward’s way out just wasn’t in him. And, he admitted out of practicality, there wasn’t enough blood to do Spike any good in this condition anyway. 

Mind made up, he seated himself against the headboard, spreading his legs to make room. Sharing blood was always an intimate experience, but sharing blood from Sire to Childe was so rare that there was a special protocol in place to ensure the Sire kept dominance over the Childe during the entire encounter. 

Spike watched him, curious. Nothing seemed odd or out of place to him. For all accounts and purposes, it just looked to him like Angel was getting himself ready for bed. “Want me to go get myself that blood, Sire?” he asked again. 

Angel rolled his eyes and rolled up his cuff sleeves. “No, idiot. I want you to take your spot.” He patted the space in-between his legs. 

Spike looked at the spot, then back at his Sire, obviously confused. “What?” he asked almost stupidly.

The elder vampire’s eyes closes as he drew a breath to keep his temper from fraying. This was already difficult enough without Spike making it harder. “I’m going to share my blood with you, Childe. Take your spot.” The words came out hard, harsher than he’d meant them to sound. This sharing of blood was sacred amongst their kind and he hoped his hard tone hadn’t discouraged Spike from doing what he’d been told. 

He needn’t have worried. At the words, Spike’s eyes lit up with delight. Mindful of his feet, he took the spot Angel had indicated carefully, but it was obvious that if he hadn’t been minding an injury, he would’ve leapt for it as eagerly as a puppy. Or, Angel thought wryly, a fledgling. 

Spike settled comfortably against Angel’s chest, letting his arms fall loosely by his sides. He titled his head to the side to allow his Sire access. Neither one of them bothered to keep up the human guise when they were alone with one another, so there was no morphing into game face required. 

Angel smiled softly as Spike settled himself, wondering why he’d ever thought this was a bad idea. The most adorable thing about Spike was his desire to please. He slid his legs closed around the man’s waist, asserting his dominance as he trapped his Childe with them. Unsurprisingly, Spike didn’t put up even a token of resistance. Angel held his wrist close to Spike’s face. The blonde reached forward gently and snared Angel’s wrists between his fangs, but didn’t break skin. He cradled his Sire’s wrist gently with his fangs, waiting for permission. 

Angel didn’t wait. He sunk his fangs deeply into the vein on his Childe’s neck, feeling the man arch beneath him at the combination of pain and pleasure it produced, infinitely pleased that Spike didn’t break protocol and bite down at the moment he did. Since his mouth was otherwise occupied, he brought his other hand up to the entrapped arm. Spike reluctantly released his wrist, an action that amused Angel because of the petulant aura the blonde was giving off. Angel tensed in preparation and took a claw to the vein in his wrist and held it up to Spike in silent invitation. 

The point of his Childe holding his wrist in his mouth while he sunk his own fangs in was a dance of dominance. No Childe was ever allowed to pierce their Sire’s flesh and the protocol was in place to make sure his Childe understood his place in relationship to his Sire. The permission to drink was given when a Childe’s Sire pierced their own flesh and held the bloodied wrist to their Childe’s mouth. 

Spike had always been excellent at the dance. He was the only one of his Childer that Angel never had to discipline for breaking his flesh more than once. He closed his eyes in pleasure as felt Spike began suckling at the wrist he held carefully to his mouth. Angel’s fangs were still embedded in Spike’s neck and they would remain that way for the entirety of the sharing. Angel had drawn a small sampling of blood when he’d pierced Spike’s neck, but stemmed the flow fairly quickly. While it was always heady to drink another vampire’s blood, especially a Childe or Sire’s blood, it wouldn’t be conducive to Spike’s healing. And that was the whole point of the exercise. 

Spike suckled gently at Angel’s wrist, treating each drop of blood as if it were a precious treasure. In truth, it was. So many years since the last time he’d shared blood with his Sire that he didn’t even want to remember how many had passed. There was a limit to how much blood he could take, he knew, but he also knew his Sire would stop him. That was the reason for the position he assumed during the ritual. And why Angel had fangs in his neck. They were a gentle, but firm, reminder that the person behind him was the one in control of the sharing and that he’d take no more blood than his Sire allowed. He’d wondered, once, why such a thing was necessary when no sane Childe would disobey his Sire, but all of those thoughts had occurred to him before he’d shared Angel’s blood for the first time. 

Sharing blood was like nothing else. There were simply no words to describe the sheer ecstasy he felt at the mere taste of Angel’s blood. It was like ambrosia, the nectar of the gods, and no one in their right mind would stop drinking it if they didn’t have to. That desire to drink until there was nothing left was the reason Angel had to keep fangs in his neck. The pressure of his Sire’s fangs and the weight of the man’s presence over his body were irrefutable assertions of Angel’s dominance over him. It told him he’d stop drinking when he was told, even if he didn’t want to, because if he didn’t, Angel could—and would—drain him nearly dry. 

Luckily, that had only been necessary once, when Spike was still a fledgling. It wasn’t an experience he ever cared to repeat, because being drained nearly dry was so crippling and painful that it made the foot whipping he’d taken earlier look like a walk in the park. 

Angel judged by the strong flow he could feel in Spike’s veins that the blonde had taken enough blood to heal him. And enough to renew the bond between us, he thought in resignation. He wasn’t sure yet if that was good or bad thing; only time would tell. He tugged against Spike’s fangs gently, letting the man know that the sharing was over. For a moment, he feared the blonde would continue, but Spike let his wrist go with a small whimper of protest. He lapped the blood on the incision with his tongue, healing the incision Angel had made. Angel smiled to himself in fond exasperation and withdrew his fangs from his Childe’s neck. 

“Thank you, Sire,” Spike said sleepily. 

Moving out from underneath the blonde without disturbing him wasn’t easy, but somehow Angel managed it. He scowled at his sleeping Childe. Of course he’d forgotten how sharing blood wiped Spike out or he would’ve settled on the other side of the bed. Because he hadn’t, he was forced to lie on Spike’s side of the bed. And of course, that meant he didn’t have his normal pillow and the bed dipped in different places. 

Sighing, he somehow found a place that was mostly comfortable and curled up, doing his best to go asleep. He swore a few times under his breath that he’d never be able to go to sleep on Spike’s side of the bed. But once he stopped tossing and turning and settled down to a mostly comfortable position, he found he couldn’t keep his eyes open. All the thoughts that had plagued him during the night just faded to nothing and soon after, he was fast asleep.

Spike woke the next night before his Sire and started guiltily once he realized he’d been sleeping on Angel’s side of the bed. He slid out of the bed quietly and winced as his feet met the cold floor. They were still sore from the punishment he’d endured the night before, but they didn’t make him want to scream bloody murder. He wandered into the bathroom and settled on the seat, pulling his right foot up to look at it. Amazing. No welts remained. In fact, his skin looked as good as new. All that was left was the muscle aches such whippings caused. Noting that, he felt a surge of gratitude towards his Sire. Not only had the man been merciful with the whipping, but had shared his blood in an effort to heal his pain. Spike felt himself reach a decision with that knowledge. He knew, without a doubt, that he’d never stray from Angel’s side again. 

_Good, ‘cause I’m pretty sure after last night, I’m not going to be letting you go any time soon._

Spike started. His Sire had renewed the bond between them? The blonde could’ve smacked himself. Of course he had. There was no way for a Sire to share blood with his Childe without renewing the bond. It simply wasn’t possible. _Oy, Peaches, not used to having you in my head so early._

Angel snorted. _Not used to waking up to you broadcasting so loudly. Tune it down, would you? I’m trying to sleep here._

Spike rolled his eyes. Trust his Sire to complain about that. But the blonde did as he had been requested and muted his thoughts. He’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to have such a bond in place. He felt a rush of fear and relief as he realized what the bond meant. There was no way he could lie to Angel, not that he’d been intending to. But it also meant he couldn’t hide the feelings and thoughts he’d been hiding either. All of the stuff about Buffy and Sunnydale was bound to come up sooner or later. He wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with that, so he pushed it from his thoughts. Hopefully, he’d managed to quiet his thoughts enough that Angel hadn’t picked up any of his wandering thoughts about those issues. He preferred to leave them for a time he was in better health and better spirits. 

Ironically enough, the fact that he wasn’t in the best of moods made him dread that night’s work that much more. Which, after a fashion, made perfect sense, since torture was normally accomplished best with a stoic heart. _Not_ , he said firmly to himself, _that I’m going to be doing any real torturing._

 _That’s right_ , Angel said. _And I’m awake now. Thanks a lot._ But the tone lacked ire. 

Spike rolled his eyes. _Not my fault, Peaches._

_Yeah, yeah. You’re the picture of innocence._

_Oy! You’ll ruin my reputation._

Angel laughed mentally. _Nah, you do that all by yourself. So when are you going down to deal with Gunn? And what exactly do you have planned?_

Spike sighed. _Probably about halfway through the night. Gotta let him stew a bit more. As for what, I thought you didn’t want to know._

 _I probably don’t._  
 _So why’d you ask, then?_ Spike asked, unable to keep the petulance from showing. That was the thing about mind-to-mind communication. It was absolutely impossible to disguise how you were feeling from one another.

_Just cause._

_Uh-huh._

_Oh all right. I just want to make sure you’re not going to go too far._

_Like I’d dare, with last night?_ The memory of the whipping he’d earned was still fresh in Spike’s mind. There was no way he was going to risk another round of his Sire’s ire. He could’ve felt offended by the question, but there’d been no real accusation or worry in Angel’s tone. The man was just making conversation and that was rare enough between them that Spike didn’t dare complain about the topic.

 _Do we really not talk that much?_ Angel was concerned.

Spike winced. He hadn’t meant to broadcast that. _Sorry, Peaches. Still learning how to control my end of this thing again. Didn’t mean for you to hear that._

_I know that, Spike._

The blonde winced again. Those words had been barbed. 

_Are you going to answer my question?_

_Huh?_

_I asked if we really didn’t talk that much._ Irritation colored Angel’s words. 

_Oh. Sorry. Yeah, we really don’t talk that much, Peaches. But I’m not upset about it or anything._

_Huh. Somehow, I have trouble believing that of you, William._

_Believe what you want, Peaches._ The truth was that the blonde yearned to talk to his Sire, to catch up on all the years he’d missed out on. But it wasn’t his place to ask for stories and if Angel wanted to talk, he’d let him know. Just because he sometimes felt lonely and misplaced didn’t mean he was going to disrupt his Sire’s life for his own selfish needs. He’d never been that kind of person and he wasn’t about to start now. 

In fact, he was about to do something else for his Sire. He was going to heal one of his humans. The methods he was using to do so were certainly a bit on the unorthodox side of things, but when had vampires ever expected to do anything orthodox?  
He hummed to himself as he walked out of the bathroom and exited the hotel room his Sire had already vacated. Somehow the conversation with Angel, though short, had been enough to restore his good mood. He was going to be able to go to his torture session with Gunn in high spirits, although he was sure his Sire wouldn’t appreciate the fact he considered it a torture session.   
No matter. He wasn’t really going to harm the human. Just get him to see the error of his ways. And then have a nice, long chat with Fred. She was, after all, the only human he hadn’t really interacted with. And if he was going to have a home here, he was going to have to find a way to be accepted by everyone; including, ironically enough, the man that he was about to torture.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel finds Spike about to commit suicide and pulls him away from the brink by invoking Sire's rights. He offers him a home and a chance to prove himself, something Spike has been aching for for over a century.

**Chapter Nine**

Gunn sagged against his bonds, head dropping so that his chin rested on his chest. He’d exhausted himself trying to get out of the bonds that kept him immobile. The first night hadn’t been that bad, even though he had woken up with a pounding head. Hangovers do that to you, he thought wryly, amused in spite of the situation. Or perhaps because of it—if he focused on the mundane, maybe he could forget about what was going to happen when his captor came back. 

He sighed, desperately wishing his mind hadn’t turned down that path. He really didn’t want to know what his captor was going to do to him, because it was sure to be unpleasant. And he’d really had enough of unpleasantness. That thought sapped him of the little strength he had left. Ever since Doyle died, Angel hadn’t been the same. There was a new level of distance between him and Gunn that the hunter just didn’t understand. Some part of him was convinced that Angel blamed him for the half-demon’s death, which was a completely moronic belief. But something inside him said that he could never measure up to the camaraderie Angel and Doyle had shared. And that was what had driven him to drink. 

Gunn had spent his entire life being told he would never measure up; that he could never be good enough. And he was sick of it. Sick of being told that everything he did to benefit the people around him wasn’t enough to prove that he was a worthwhile human being. He was the one that was always there, wasn’t he, when there was some kind of trouble? He’d been there for Cordelia when they’d learned the visions were killing her. And he’d been the one to suggest rescuing Fred from that place. It didn’t even deserve to be called a world. And Wesley—well, he didn’t know where to start with that. Because every time the watcher had a problem, he turned to Gunn. The hunter never turned away from a friend in need. Ever. And yet.  
If he’d had a hand free, Gunn would’ve been pounding the floor. Anger and bitterness welled up inside him. He hated feeling like this. Feeling worthless. And worst of all, he felt that he deserved it. Because he hadn’t been there for Doyle. It was the only time in his life he hadn’t made it in time. And it was his fault. If only he hadn’t stopped by the gas station. If only he had hurried home that night, because he’d known going out that there was a good chance it would go down that night. But no; he’d chosen the selfish route. For the first time in his life, he’d let his own desires lead him. And the last, he swore solemnly. Never again. 

Gunn flexed his leg muscles, trying to keep them from cramping. He was disgusted with the state he was in, but there was nothing he could do about it. Being tied to a chair for over twenty-four hours with no sign of his captor meant there’d been no choice. His pants were soaked through and chafed miserably at his thighs. A new thought chanced upon him. What if his captor’s plan was to keep him here, like this, until he died? Gunn eyed the tables and the torture implements with anxiety. But if that was the case, why would his captor have gone through the trouble of setting up such an elaborate interrogation room? It didn’t make sense. No, his captor was probably letting him stew for awhile to try to make him nervous, to frighten him. 

A part of him longed to say with false bravado that nothing could frighten him, that he was too tough to be tortured. But he knew that wasn’t true and couldn’t bring himself to believe it, even half-heartedly. The truth of the matter was, quite simply, that his captor had read him well. And that—that thought there—was what terrified him. Because if his captor could get inside his head, the game was already over before it’d begun. 

He shook his head, dispelling the conclusions he was drawing about a person he’d never met. Looking at things logically, the room was set up in such a way to scare him, sure, but it would’ve been set up the same way if his captor’s victim had been anyone else. It was an excellent interrogation technique. 

Gunn tugged at his bonds a few more times, but his efforts were half-hearted. He really wished he had a beer. At least then things would seem bearable. His thoughts wondered back to Angel on their own volition. 

Ever since Doyle’s death, Angel had grown cold towards Gunn, only talking to him when necessary for the cases they worked. And Gunn couldn’t cope with that. Not when Angel had been the first man to ever see the worth inherent in his person and give him a chance to live up to it. It was too painful to find that kind of belief and have it taken away due to circumstances beyond his control. Drinking had been the only thing that numbed the pain.

At first, it was only one or two beers a night. But when Angel found him with a beer in hand, he’d given Gunn his most disapproving look. That had made things worse and Gunn wallowed in misery. He was drinking and Angel disapproved and his disapproval was largely contingent on the fact that alcohol impaired reflexes which were vital in a fight. But Gunn had chosen to view it as much more than that and so he’d started drinking more and more every night, as if daring Angel to say something about it. 

And the truth was, if Angel had spoken up, if he’d told Gunn that he was worried the man was drinking too much, Gunn would’ve stopped. He’d have washed all the beer in his room down the sink, felt miserable for a couple of days as he got all the alcohol flushed from his system, and that would’ve been the end of it. But Angel hadn’t said anything. Just gave him that look that said I know what you’re doing and I don’t care for it. 

He’d never expected to end up like this, though. Being captured by anyone, for whatever reason, was shameful. He felt ashamed. Gunn couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually felt ashamed of his own actions, but he did now. It wasn’t the first time someone had gotten the better of him and tied him up, but at least the other times he could honestly say that he’d been jumped or overpowered. This…this was just sickening. And sad. Because, his captor, whoever that was, had been able to take him out of his own home and he hadn’t been able to lift a hand in protest. In essence, he’d aided his captor, because he hadn’t fought back. 

He groaned. Was the man never going to come to him? He wished his captor would just get it over with already. He was heartily tired of being alone with his own thoughts. Gunn sighed and collapsed against the back of the chair. All he could do now was wait. 

 

Spike pushed the button for the basement on the elevator with a small sigh. While his mood had certainly been lifted by the restored link between him and his Sire, it created some obstacles as well. The biggest one being that he couldn’t hide anything from Angel ever again. Sure, he could try, but it wasn’t going to really be possible.

He shook his head, doing his best to clear his head of those thoughts. He didn’t want to start dwelling on Buffy and the problems he’d had in Sunnydale when there was something more important at hand. Talking to Gunn was going to take all of his concentration. Not because the human was dangerous—the bonds the man was in prevented him from doing any harm to Spike—but because he had to get through to him. There was no way he could face Angel, especially after last night, if he failed. 

So he wouldn’t fail. Jaw set with determination, he strode forward into the basement with all the confidence he could muster. Spike wasn’t just a persona he’d created—it was who he was. Spike wasn’t just a mask; he’d had to become rough and tough in order to survive and developed a certain set of skills that went along with that. Boisterous confidence was part of that, but it wasn’t a boastful confidence—everything he claimed to be able to do, he could do. Being honest about his abilities didn’t seem boastful, just honest, but he’d been told by quite a few people that he was a bit of a braggart. 

Whatever. He shrugged to himself. If it worked and it helped him survive, what right did he have to complain? 

He stood behind Gunn for a moment, debating with himself. He knew the man hadn’t realized he was present yet, since he had moved with all the stealth of his kind, so he had time to think. Spike sighed silently. There were two choices here. He could use the ski mask he’d stashed in the corner of the room and hide his identity from Gunn or he could be up front and honest with the man. It was a tough decision. 

On one hand, if he hid his identity, Gunn would never know that it was Spike that had kidnapped him. Spike planned to use a fake accent if he went down that road, so his voice wouldn’t give him away. And that was a bonus in a lot of ways, because then Spike could get to know the man without a barrier of fear between them. But there would always be the barrier of Spike’s knowledge that he’d put Gunn through this. And he might be a vampire and he might love blood and torture, but this human was one of Angel’s pets. Something about that just didn’t sit right with him. If there had been no emotional attachment on Angel’s part, maybe he could’ve stomached it. But this would be like having to torture Drusilla. And that was something Spike never could have done. 

Spike reached a decision. He wouldn’t hide his identity from Gunn. Sure, there would be a barrier in their relationship with one another because of this incident, but it wouldn’t be insurmountable. And it wouldn’t cause him unnecessary guilt. If anything, it could help the two of them to forge a deeper relationship with each other. Spike dismissed that as ridiculous and took the last few steps towards Gunn, grinning wickedly. 

“Cheers, mate,” he said, reaching up and pulling the gag out of Gunn’s mouth.

“Spike!” Gunn hissed. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

Spike felt a moment of disorientation. Gunn seemed to expect to be rescued. And, if Spike was honest with himself, that was a fact that he found rather amusing. “Oy. I’m not here to rescue you, Charlie-boy.” 

Gunn frowned at him. “What the fuck are you talking about, Spike? Of course you’re here to…” he trailed off, eyes going wide as he fell silent. After he took a moment to digest that information, he spoke up, voice nearly a whisper. “If you’re not here to rescue me…

“Aye, mate. I’m the one who brought you here.” 

“Why?” Gunn’s voice was low, so low Spike had to strain to hear him, and it was laced with resignation and betrayal. 

“Oy! I’m a vampire. It’s what I do, you know. Taking people and whatnot.” Spike frowned as he scrutinized the man in front of him. From what he remembered, Gunn wasn’t the kind of man to give up so easily. The hunter who’d pulled him off of Angel a couple months back contained much more spark than the man in front of him. His brow furrowed as he considered what could’ve happened to bleed the life and confidence out of Gunn. 

“Don’t play with me, Spike. If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.” 

Spike gestured widely to the tables and the tools arranged throughout the room. “Does it look like I have any intention of killing you, Charlie-boy?” 

“Don’t call me that,” Gunn said, his protest a token one. 

“I think I’ll call you whatever I like.”

“Whatever. Do what you like to me, Spike. Torture me. Maim me. Kill me. I’m too tired to care anymore.” 

Spike frowned. “This isn’t like you, Charles.”

Gunn laughed bitterly. “What’s not?” He looked pointedly down at the ropes securing him to the chair. “I’ve got nothing left to lose.” 

The vampire reached his second decision of the night. Nodding sharply to himself, he crossed the room and grabbed a chair he’d set aside just in case things went this way. Spike set the chair down in front of Gunn, turning it so that the back faced the human, and straddled it as he sat down. He folded his arms over the back of it, rested his chin on his hands, and stared at Gunn intently. “You really believe that, don’t you?” he asked softly, all the hard edges gone from his voice. 

Gunn didn’t trust himself to speak. Out of all the possibilities, he’d never in a million years suspected Spike of being his captor. He nodded, then looked away. This was his true weakness. Any person he cared for or respected…he couldn’t lie to them. Not when confronted directly. And any man who had dared to take Angel down a peg or two when it’d been sorely needed deserved his respect. 

Spike watched the thoughts flash through Gunn’s head. This was his special ability, the talent he had as a vampire. Angelus had his ritual magic that only he ever seemed to work correctly. Drusilla had her visions. Darla had her uncanny ability to manipulate humans and vampires alike to do her bidding. And seeing to the heart of the matter, seeing the thoughts that crossed others’ minds when it mattered most—well, that was Spike’s gift. 

“Why’d you start drinking, Charles?” Spike asked, keeping his voice low. 

Gunn snorted, somehow making even that come out bitter. “Angel,” he said. 

When no further explanation seemed forthcoming, Spike prodded gently, “Angel?” 

And all of a sudden, Gunn just relented. All the tension just fled his body and he opened up. Here was his chance to get it all off his chest. It was such a relief that his captor was a familiar face he almost felt like crying. Maybe he should worry more, be more concerned about getting himself out of the situation, but all that was in his mind was that finally—finally—someone was going to listen to him. And it didn’t matter that he was tied up. It didn’t matter that the person he was going to be talking to was Spike. All that mattered was that he could finally talk about it. Just get it all out in the open. 

“I started drinking about the same time Doyle died,” Gunn said. “Angel and I were close; we shared everything. Well, the three of us did. Me, Doyle, and Angel. And when he died, Angel just closed up. Stopped talking to me. And I started drinking.” 

“To cope with Doyle’s death?” Spike asked gently.

Gunn looked genuinely startled at the question. “No,” he said, shaking his head impatiently. “It had nothing to do with Doyle. I mean, yeah, I missed him. Hell, I still do some days. But the drinking…I started drinking because it was my fault.”

Spike blinked, trying to follow what Gunn was saying. The blonde wasn’t sure the man in front of him even knew the train of his own thoughts, but he certainly wasn’t going to disrupt him when it’d been so easy to get him talking. “What was your fault?” So far, keeping his voice soft and low seemed to inspire Gunn to talk. And if that was all it was going to take, Spike had no problem lending a sympathetic ear. Part of him hated that he wasn’t going to get to torture Gunn…another part was glad, because it would’ve been like torturing Drusilla. 

“Doyle’s death,” Gunn said. 

Spike fought the urge to recoil physically. Doing so would seem judgmental; would cause Gunn to retreat into his shell. That was one thing he didn’t want to happen. “How was that your fault?” 

“That night, the night he died, I stopped at the store to grab a blunt. I knew—I knew—that things were probably going to go down that night, but I stopped anyway. And when I got back, I was too late.”

Frowning thoughtfully, Spike said, “If you hadn’t stopped by the store, would you have made it back on time?” 

Gunn looked at him in shock. “I…I never thought of it like that.” He was silent for a moment as he considered the question. The reason he’d been out of the hotel that day was because he’d taken a part-time job in order to help pay the bills in times when there was no business. He’d gotten to the incident thirty minutes after it happened. His stop at the gas station only took him five minutes, give or take a couple minutes. “No,” he whispered and felt relief course through him. “It wasn’t my fault,” he said in stunned disbelief. “It wasn’t my fault!” 

Spike grinned at him. “Aye, mate. It wasn’t.”

Gunn grinned back. 

“What made you think it was?” 

Gunn sobered at that. “I…think I thought Angel blamed me for it. So I blamed myself. I thought he believed me responsible for killing his best friend.” 

“Oy! Peaches may be a bit of a blockhead sometimes, but he ain’t never gonna be as much of a blockhead to accuse one best friend of killing another, ‘specially when it ain’t so.” 

“Then why did he stop talking to me? He just shut himself up completely. Didn’t let anyone in.” 

Spike rolled his eyes and untied the man. “You’re an idiot, Charlie-boy. And you stink.” 

Gunn scowled. “Well, that’s your fault. If you wanted to talk to me, you could’ve just asked me.” 

Spike snorted. “Oh yeah, that would’ve gone over real well with you, as pissed as you were.” 

Sheepishly, Gunn said, “Yeah, well…”

“Angel gets like that when he loses someone or something close to him. He doesn’t usually see how it affects the people around him, cuz it’s how he deals with loss. It’s just his version of grieving. But I can see how, since of everything that happened and all, that you would think he’d blame you when you blamed yourself.”

Gunn scowled. “I’m not retarded, Spike. I know that people grieve in different ways.” Still, it was nice to have that confirmed. He’d never tell that to the blonde, but he was sure the man understood. 

Spike scowled back, then his expression softened. “Listen, mate. I’m only gonna tell you this once. Angel cares about you. He was the one who asked me to get you away from the beer because he saw how hurt you were. He’s not good with emotions. He can’t say sorry. He’s socially awkward and a bit eccentric. But he doesn’t keep people around he doesn’t trust. And he sure as hell wouldn’t keep someone around if he thought that person killed one of his friends.” 

Gunn sighed, rubbing his wrists. He caught Spike’s eye and nodded once, letting the blonde know he’d gotten the message. Then he looked around the room. “Spike, is this the hotel basement?”

Spike laughed at the incredulity in Gunn’s voice. “Yeah, mate. Seemed appropriate.” 

Gunn rolled his eyes. Trust Spike to turn his home into his prison.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel finds Spike about to commit suicide and pulls him away from the brink by invoking Sire's rights. He offers him a home and a chance to prove himself, something Spike has been aching for for over a century.

****

**Chapter Ten**

 

Angel stood behind the reception desk, tapping his foot impatiently. Customers could not have come at a more inconvenient time. Gunn was downstairs with his Childe, who was doing who-knew-what to the hunter. Wesley was in his room, researching information for their clients. Cordelia was downstairs with him, but it was fairly obvious the visions were starting to wear her out. She looked pale and determined, popping a couple aspirin when she thought he wasn’t looking. Angel sighed. He needed someone to help him and none of the humans had the stamina. And Spike was downstairs, torturing Gunn.

 

Angel winced as he thought about what the blonde was doing to the hunter. He trusted Spike, but only to a certain point. He felt tempted, time and again, to reach inside the bond the two of them shared and snatch the information he sought away from Spike. Manners, and a very real sense of what happened when someone believed their trust broken, kept him at a bay. He had no wish to be at odds with Spike, especially now that the bond between them had been renewed.

 

The sound of Spike’s footsteps were unmistakable—he wasn’t taking care to be silent, the way he normally did, probably thanks to the sore muscles he still had from last night’s whipping. Angel cocked his head to the side, listening. His Childe was still at the elevator—a lengthy walk for someone with injured soles—but he was accompanied by Gunn, whose footsteps, though quiet by human standards, fell heavily. Hearing the way the man was walking immediately told Angel that he hadn’t been injured and also that Gunn harbored no wariness towards Spike. Both of which were good things, considering the two of them were going to have to get along if they were all going to live together.

 

__I see you didn’t kill him,_ Angel said, tone laced with amusement._

 

 

__Oy! Warn a bloke before you do that, mate! You made me jump nearly outta my skin. And a’course I didn’t kill him, Peaches. What kinda numbskull you think I am, anyway?_ _

 

 

Angel had to suppress a snort. Spike always managed to put a precise inflection on his words that surprised Angel at times. Shock, fake outrage, genuine exasperation at accusation…all of it came across loud and clear. It was one of his favorite things about the blonde, but he doubted he’d ever say that to the man’s face. _So no torture, then?_

 

__No,_ Spike said, putting all the petulance into his tone as he could. After a moment of silent rebuke, he relented. _Seems the bloke just wanted someone to talk to, Peaches. He was blaming himself for Doyle’s death and thought you blamed him for it, too._ _

 

 

Shock coursed through Angel at those words. _Of course I don’t blame him! The very idea is…_

 

__Preposterous, I know, Sire,_ Spike answered, his tone soft. He wasn’t looking to provoke his Sire’s anger any time soon after the last incident. _I told him that. Not sure if just me telling him is going to be enough, though. It’s why he’s been getting pissed. Thought you didn’t care for him anymore._ _

 

 

__William, you know how bad I am at expressing my feelings._ _

 

 

_Um, yes. But I am not Charlie-boy here. He hasn’t had nearly two centuries to get to know you and he’ll never have that much time. He’s human, Peaches. They’re more fragile than we are._

 

 _I don’t know about that,_ Angel thought to himself, keeping it from Spike. He didn’t want to offend his Childe, but the truth was Spike was much more fragile than any of the humans they were surrounded by. That fragile nature was where Spike drew all of his strength, whether he realized it or not, and it was only because the blonde was so comfortable in his own skin that he was able to persevere despite everything that happened to him.

 

“Oy, Peaches,” Spike said, coming in to view of the reception area. “I see you have customers. What seems to be the trouble?” He directed his attention solely to the married couple standing in front of the desk who were immediately taken in by his charisma.

 

“Our daughter, she’s been possessed by some kind of spirit,” the woman said. “She flies into tantrums and she’s been writing threatening messages on the wall. We’ve tried everything else. We even went to a priest, but he said he didn’t do exorcisms because no one got possessed anymore.”

 

Spike guided the woman to a seat with a hand on her shoulder, angling his body towards her to make her feel more comfortable about talking to him. “How long has it been happening?”

 

_This is my job, Spike, not yours._

 

Spike quirked an eyebrow in Angel’s direction, but otherwise ignored the man. There was no reason for Angel to get angry that the woman was telling him about her daughter instead of him. It should be as obvious to Angel as to him that Spike was his possession, not a combatant.

 

“About two months,” she said, wringing her hands nervously. “I don’t know what else to do.”

 

“We’ll pay anything,” her husband added. He had followed them over to the waiting area and was hovering over them.

 

Spike nodded and patted her hand sympathetically.

 

 _Spike._ Angel’s tone was sharp and meant to be threatening.

 

 _You’re being ridiculous, Sire,_ Spike replied softly, keeping his tone respectful. He knew that to act like Spike right now would be completely ineffective. When Angel got into a mood, there was only one way to soothe his anger.

 

 _Ridiculous, Childe? It is you who is being presumptuous._ Angel was angry. He’d finally been ready to talk to the couple and figure out what their problem was when Spike had swept into the room and taken over. The blonde was supposed to stay in the background and learn, not participate in cases. If he remembered correctly, they’d agreed that Spike had to earn his way into helping with cases, not jump right in them.

 

_Sire, I understand your anger. I truly do, but please let me talk to her. I promise, I won’t do anything but talk._

 

_You won’t do anything at all without my say-so._

 

Without being obvious about it, Spike caught Angel’s eye and tilted his head submissively to the side and lowered his eyes deferentially. _Aye, Sire._

 

After a moment’s thought, Angel felt himself relax a fraction. He was still not comfortable with Spike talking to his customers, but he was satisfied that Spike understood his place in the hierarchy of things.

 

 _May I talk to her, Sire? I am just going to direct her to you. I know I haven’t earned the right to help with cases yet,_ Spike said, echoing Angel’s earlier thought. Ruefully, he added, _I just can’t help it. When I see someone in such distress…_ he trailed off, embarrassed. He didn’t want Angel to know that about him. That, even after two centuries of learning to maim and slaughter, he still hadn’t lost his humanity; that he would still stop and comfort a grieving widow or a distraught teenager. It was just him.

 

Angel felt a surge of affection towards Spike at those words. Maybe…just maybe…the two of them could re-establish the relationship they’d held before. And this time, it wouldn’t have to be so unequal. Spike had hardened, that much was true, and Angel had softened. But, now that he thought about it properly, if the two of them had changed in those ways, then they’d grown towards the other. Surely, such a relationship would complement them, rather than hinder them. He shook his head. Now was not the time to be thinking of such things. _All right. You can direct her to me. And I’m beginning to understand the drive to help those in need, William. My soul has taught me the same thing you’ve been trying to tell me for centuries._

 

Spike flushed and ducked his head to talk to the woman, unable to reply. His Sire’s words had reached down deep and squeezed his heart. He’d missed Angel fiercely, but always doubted the man had felt the same about him. But those words…it let him know that Angel always had him on his mind, even if he wasn’t aware of it. Feeling a lump of unchecked emotion start to rise, he hastily choked it back down and turned back to the distraught mother. _We should talk, Sire. After this business is concluded._

 

_Yes, we should. We have much to catch up on._

 

“You see the man standing behind the desk?” Spike asked of the woman, motioning towards Angel with his head.

 

She nodded, clutching a tissue she’d pulled out of her purse in order to dab her eyes, and motioned to her husband.

Hysteria was nothing new to Spike and he watched the scene unfold impassively. Her husband was the one who took the initiative and approached Angel. Spike couldn’t blame her—Angel, even when he was being nice, always looked daunting. He cut a sharp figure and exuded authority. People were either drawn to him or stayed well away. Angel was one of the few vampires who could exude dominance, confidence, and complete awkwardness in the face of a new situation.

 

_Hey, I’m not awkward._

 

Spike snorted. _You weren’t supposed to hear that, but since you’re busy eavesdropping on my thoughts instead of listening to that poor bloke’s story, yes you are._

 

_I am not!_

 

_Oy, peaches. Not so loud. This is my head you’re yelling into._

 

_I know._

 

Spike could feel the smirk. He pouted.

 

Angel rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the man in front of him. “Your daughter has been possessed, is that right, Mr. Crawford?”

 

“Yes,” Mr. Crawford said.

 

“What symptoms does she have?”

 

Mr. Crawford looked back towards Spike, obviously torn between telling Angel the symptoms or telling Angel that he’d already told Spike the symptoms. Angel repeated the question, which helped him decide. “She’s been throwing tantrums. She sweats constantly, whether it’s cold or hot. And she talks in gibberish and writes strange messages on the wall.”

 

“Does she use blood to write those messages?”

 

With a horrified, disgusted expression, Mr. Crawford answered slowly. “No, not blood. Just ink. But it’s frightening.”

Angel nodded. “Okay. Cordelia, the brunette who you talked to when you first got here will take care of the financial side of things. I am going to need you to bring your daughter here unless you are comfortable with having a vampire inside your home.”

 

At those words, Mr. Crawford sprang back. “A v-aa-mm-pp-ii-reee?” he stuttered. “I thought that was just a myth.”

 

_Oy, Peaches. Did you have to go and scare him? ___

 

Full of teeth, Angel replied, _Yep. Makes me feel better. This man obviously had no idea what he was dealing with._ He concentrated on the file Cordelia had shown him before the couple showed up for the meeting that indicated he’d beaten the girl in order to drive the demon from her and she’d been so badly injured she’d had to be hospitalized. _So a little fear is in order, Childe._

 

Spike rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help feel for the girl. It wasn’t right, what that man had done to her. _And, of course, you want me to do your dirty work for you._

 

 _Why else do you think I keep you around?_ The humor in the words took the sting out.

 

Rolling up his sleeves, Spike strode over to the desk where Angel was standing and leapt up on it with a flourish so that he was seated, feet bouncing off the wood as he swung them. “No, mate, I’m afraid we’re real.”

 

It took a moment for Mr. Crawford to realize what had been said. “You?” he asked slowly, stupidly, beginning to back away.

 

“Oy, mate. Just ‘cause I’m a vampire don’t mean I’m going to eat ya. This guy here won’t let me.” Spike prodded a finger into Angel’s side viciously. Angel glared at him.

 

“S-om-e kind of spell?” the man asked.

 

At the very absurdity of the thought, Spike burst out laughing. A spell indeed! _Oh Sire, it’s a good thing I don’t need to breathe._

 

Angel rolled his eyes but smiled tolerantly. _Poke me again, and I will break your finger._

 

_It was worth it._

 

“No, Mr. Crawford, I’m afraid it’s not a spell. The truth of the matter is that I am also a vampire. But,” Angel said, quelling the man’s backwards pace with a look, “I have a soul. Most vampires do not. That is why I am able to do business with people. Now, the problem is your daughter being possessed, not whether or not I’m a vampire. So, again: do you or do you not care if a vampire is in your house?”

 

Mrs. Crawford, by this time, had come up behind her husband in an odd reversal of their earlier positioning with Spike. “I don’t care that you’re a vampire,” she said softly. “I just want my daughter back.”

 

Angel nodded his understanding. “Mr. Crawford? It seems it’s up to you.”

 

He frowned. “I’d rather not have a vampire in my home, whether you have a soul or not. I’ll arrange for her to be brought here. What day?”

 

“I only work in the middle of the night,” Angel said, motioning towards himself as he added, “for obvious reasons. But any night is fine. I don’t have any other cases currently, so if you’d like to have her brought over tonight I have a friend who could arrange it.”

 

“Is this friend of yours a vampire?”

 

Mrs. Crawford shushed him. “That doesn’t matter, Harold. The important thing here is Rebecca. If we can get her here tonight and get rid of the demon, we should do it.”

 

Angel nodded his agreement. “I’ll set it up.”

 

Mr. Crawford started to protest, but Spike leaned forward and grabbed him by the collar, drawing him in close. “Mate, I wouldn’t get on his bad side. If you’re expecting any kind of sympathy from him, you’ve come to the wrong place. ‘Specially seeing you beat up your own daughter and—

 

“Spike,” Angel said, tone sharp.

 

The blonde straightened immediately. “Sire?”

 

“Do not harass my customers.”

 

Spike leered at the man and settled back into his spot. _I forgot how much fun it can be to play with humans like this._

 

_Yeah, well, keep yourself entertained. Make them think you’re—_

 

 _Not quite as leashed as they think? No problem._ He leaned forward again once he was sure Angel was out of eyeshot. “You better be glad he’s here,” he said to Harold. “I’ve got a personal problem with humans who think it’s okay to beat their children.”

 

Mr. Crawford leaned back, assessing the blonde. “Don’t vampires thrive on violence?”

 

Spike shrugged. “Yea, mate, that’s what makes us vampires. But we don’t beat on people for no reason, especially not the younger of our kind. And especially,” he said, voice going into a low hiss, “when they haven’t done anything to deserve it, when their actions are beyond their own control.”

 

Angel came back around the corner and stood over Spike’s shoulder.

 

Spike pretended not to notice, leaning closer to Mr. Crawford, whose eyes were frantically darting between the blonde dangerously close to him and the dark-haired man who seemed to be waiting for something. “You’re lucky it’s Angel running this and not me, because I’d make sure to dispose of you so that—

 

Angel placed his hands on Spike’s shoulders and pressed down hard, startling a gasp out of the blonde, who hadn’t been expecting any sort of physical contact. “I thought I told you not to harass my customers.”

 

Spike looked guiltily from Mr. Crawford to Angel. “I wasn’t,” he said and amended hastily at Angel’s darkening look, “not really, anyway. I was just speculating.”

 

“If you’ve got time to speculate, you’ve got time to gather what I need for the exorcism. Wesley should have everything up in his room.”

 

Spike wrinkled his nose. “Sire, you know I hate magic.”

 

Angel shrugged. “Since when have I cared what you liked?”

 

Spike swung his legs over the counter and stood up, pushing Angel backwards in one fluid motion. “I refuse,” he said, meeting Angel’s eyes squarely.

 

Mr. Crawford chose that moment to speak up. “If I may say something?”

 

“Go ahead,” Angel said, glowering at his Childe.

 

“Wasn’t it you, sir, who told me getting on his bad side was a bad idea?” Mr. Crawford asked, directing his attention to Spike.

 

Spike tore his gaze away from his Sire. “Well yeah. It is a bad idea. For you.” He looked at Angel who was staring at the ceiling as if looking for strength to deal with him.

 

Angel turned back towards his Childe when he realized that was the extent of Harold’s questions. “Go get the materials from Wesley’s room.”

 

“No. Get them yourself.”

 

“Do I need to get my whip?” Angel asked, dropping his voice just enough to make Mr. Crawford think he was trying to be secretive. In truth, he was making sure the man heard him.

 

Spike looked stricken and sickened by the thought, playing it up for all it was worth. “No, Sire,” he said, just as lowly, then added at a normal level, “Fine. I’ll go get your damn materials.” He stomped off in a huff, not daring to look back as he exited. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face.

 

Angel smiled at Mr. Crawford who smiled shakily back and took a couple steps away from the desk, obviously unsettled. “It okay with you if I call my friend and have him bring your daughter here now?” he asked.

 

Harold nodded his assent sharply.

 

“Thank you,” Angel said, turned to the phone, and dialed Gunn’s room. The man hadn’t gotten off the elevator with Spike. He’d probably gone to take a shower.

 

On the third ring, Gunn answered. “Hello?”

 

“Hey. I need you to do me a favor.” Angel rattled off the address of the Crawford’s home and explained the situation and told Gunn he needed him to retrieve the girl.

 

“Not a problem,” Gunn said and then hesitated, unsure how to word what he wanted to say. Angel sighed and started to hang the phone up when Gunn continued. “Hey. Thanks for Spike,” he said. That was the best way he could think of to put it without sounding like a wimp.

 

“Anytime,” Angel said.

 

The phone clicked and the line went dead. Gunn stared at the phone in his head for a moment before shaking his head. This wasn’t the time to be thinking—he had a job to do.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel finds Spike about to commit suicide and pulls him away from the brink by invoking Sire's rights. He offers him a home and a chance to prove himself, something Spike has been aching for for over a century.

**Chapter Eleven**

Angel hummed as he unlocked the door to his hotel room. The night had gone well. Rebecca’s case of possession was a mild one and it had taken no more than four hours to drive the demon out of her body. She would bear no scars from the possession. The same couldn’t be said about her father. Angel scowled as he thought of it. The man had beaten his only child because he’d thought it the only way to solve the problem. Sure, the man had been desperate and terrified that the demon was going to consume her or take her over and kill him and his wife—both of which were valid concerns—but there was just no sense in him beating his child when Rebecca herself wasn’t the one causing the incidents. 

Speaking of children, Angel glanced around the room twice before he was satisfied that Spike wasn’t in the room. It was a bit unusual. The last few days Spike had made it a point to be in the room waiting for his Sire to come to bed, the way he’d always done when he was a fledgling. 

_I’m not a fledgling anymore, Sire. I’m on the roof._

_I don’t remember giving you permission to leave the hotel,_ Angel said, once he’d recovered from the shock of Spike initiating conversation. The bond was two-way, so it was understandable that the blonde may eavesdrop on him occasionally, but he hadn’t expected Spike to actually intrude. 

_I’m not intruding anymore than you do. ‘Sides, I’m not really on the roof. I’m standing in the alcove before it. Figured I’d wait for you since you agreed we should talk._

Angel felt a rush of relief at that; he didn’t want to punish Spike for disobeying the same rule so soon after the last one. _All right. I’ll be up in a minute. I need to get out of these clothes—they’re covered in magic gunk. _And they were—any kind of magic ritual left its own kind of signature. His clothes smelled like pepper, garlic, and incense and his hair was covered with a misting of salt he’d used in the exorcism.__

He carefully folded his clothes before placing them in his laundry bag and then hopped in the shower, muscles slowly relaxing under the pressure of the water hitting him. He washed quickly, looking forward to and dreading the upcoming conversation. There were a lot of things the two of them needed to get out in the open, some of which he wouldn’t be comfortable with…some of which Spike wouldn’t be comfortable with. But if the two of them were going to have any kind of working relationship, even if it was only platonic (and hopefully more than that someday), then they were going to have to start being honest with one another. 

Angel pulled on a pair of sweats and a tee and climbed the stairs to the roof effortlessly. He found his Childe smoking a cigarette, leaning up against the wall of the alcove. “Care to join me?” he asked, walking onto the roof. He waited a minute to see what Spike would do and then relented. “All right. Come on out.” 

Spike snorted, threw his cigarette down on the concrete of the roof and snuffed it out with his boot heel. “Trust you to flaunt the fact I can’t come out of the hotel without permission.” 

Angel grinned, but that grin slowly faded into a more solemn expression. “One of the last times we were on a roof together, you told me you were waiting for the sun.” 

Spike shrugged, rolling his neck to the side in a way that indicated he was uncomfortable with the way the discussion was headed. “What of it?” 

“It wasn’t just me that put you on that roof, Spike. I may be good, but even I’m not good enough to drive you, of all people, to suicide.” Neither one of them had dared to put the name to the act before…meeting the sun was a bad enough phrase. But now that the word had been said, it hung between them. 

Spike said nothing for a long moment, just staring at the stares. “It wasn’t just you, Sire. Never was, really.”

Angel nodded, turning to give Spike his full attention. “What happened in Sunnydale, Spike?” he asked.

Spike found himself responding, due to the simple fact his Sire had never asked him anything so gently before. “It’s a long story.” 

Angel sat on the ledge and patted the spot beside him, which Spike took automatically at the indication he should do so. “I’ve got time. So tell me.” 

“Okay. But then you have to tell me about Doyle. And what’s going on with you and the rest of your humans.” 

Angel’s face tightened, but he nodded. He didn’t want to create an uneven relationship between them, the way it had been for far too long. Yes, he was still Spike’s Sire. Yes, he’d still rein him in when he got out of hand, but the man was also a Master. He’d learned enough not to need a short leash anymore. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you. After,” he said emphatically at Spike’s hopeful look. 

Spike sighed. “It started the night they brought Buffy back from the dead. She came back not quite human. Being pulled out of heaven…it changed her, somehow. I think it made her angry that she’d been pulled away from a much-deserved peace. Anyhow, she came back darker—much more feral than before. And that worried me, so I started watching her, keeping her in my sight. I was afraid she was going to go off and do something stupid, like kill herself.” 

Angel snorted. “Buffy doesn’t strike me as the suicidal sort.” 

“She’s not,” Spike confirmed. “She’s the type that’s self-destructive in a way that could be conceived of as being suicidal. She didn’t want to be alive, Sire. She’d been in heaven and they pulled her back selfishly. So she did the thing above killing herself and threw herself into her slaying. I think subconsciously she was hoping each demon was going to be the one that got one over on her. And she got desperate.” 

“And you can’t resist people in need,” Angel said, his voice soft and understanding. No judgment lay in his tone and it was that fact which allowed Spike to continue his tale. 

“Aye. I can’t resist those in need. So I told her what I saw. She hadn’t seen what she was doing to herself, but when it came to her attention she was perfectly okay with using me for herself. She slept with me because she hated that I could see her, but she loved that I could see her. She was confused and I maybe took advantage of her as much as she did me.” At Angel’s questioning look, Spike clarified, “That was the month after Drusilla disappeared permanently. Buffy was the first person I found to redirect my affection towards. I can’t…”

“I know. What happened?” 

“Well, I guess I got too attached. Like always.” Spike didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in his voice. “And I said some things she wasn’t ready to hear, took the truth too far. I kinda threw it in her face. And then she started accusing me of raping her. I didn’t, not physically, but I guess in a way I kinda robbed her of her naivety, and if that can be called rape, then maybe she was telling the truth.”

Angel digested this in silence. “What about the others?” he asked. 

“Willow was the worst,” Spike answered promptly. “I didn’t like her much to begin with, since she was the one who decided raising Buffy from the dead was the wisest course of action. Seems like me and Xander were the only ones who spoke up about that resurrection at all. Tara supported Willow in it, so there was no help from that corner. And Dawn…well, it was her sister. She certainly wasn’t going to say no to her sister being brought back. I think she blamed herself for Buffy’s death more than—

“Spike,” Angel interrupted, his tone hard. “I did not ask you what the others did and felt regarding Buffy’s death and resurrection. Answer me properly.” 

Spike averted his eyes for a moment. “Sorry,” he said, glancing sideways at his Sire. Seeing that he wasn’t in trouble, he continued. “As I was saying, Willow was the worst. She came after me one night with a shovel. I’ve heard the phrase before…the “mess with my friend and I’ll come after you with a shovel”…but I’d never thought I’d see it put into action.” Spike looked down, embarrassed. “I knew that she wouldn’t be okay with me ever again, but she’d at least get some satisfaction out of beating me with that shovel. So I went a couple rounds with her…let her land enough hits that I was obviously worse off than she was…and she seemed better. She never did seem upset by it, which is strangely upsetting considering she used to be very gung-ho about demons and vampires being capable of just as much good as humans.”

“She took Buffy’s accusation to heart. And Spike, don’t lie to me.” 

Spike looked up, startled.

“You said that you didn’t like her much to begin with, but that’s not true. You were always fascinated by her. So when she turned against you like that without letting you defend yourself, you got pretty badly hurt.” 

Shrugging uncomfortably, Spike plunged onward, neither denying nor confirming his Sire’s assessment. “Tara was obviously on Willow’s side, but she didn’t bother me. Xander, though, I expected more from. I know he hates vampires,” he said at Angel’s disgruntled look. “But he always treated me better than the rest of them combined. Even the time I spent tied in his basement…it’s a long story, don’t look at me like that…was favorable to the time I spent around the rest of them. But when he heard about the supposed rape, he took it upon himself to follow me everywhere when I was watching Dawn. Surprisingly enough, Dawn knew I never touched her sister. She’s a good person. She’s the only reason I stayed sane in that town. I felt watched and hunted and preyed upon, Sire. And I’m supposed to be the hunter, not the prey. It was too much for me, so I came back to L.A.” 

Angel nodded. “And now here we are.” 

“Aye. Here we are.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, then Angel spoke. “I guess it’s my turn. Doyle was the first person who found me and he helped steer me down the course the Powers that Be wanted me to go down. He was the first person to get close to me since you, Spike. And you weren’t around.” 

Spike startled. Did that mean?

“No, childe, we didn’t take comfort in one another physically. Although there were times we came close. But Doyle was still too torn over his past relationship and I…” Angel took a deep breath. He owed this the same amount of courage and honesty Spike had shown him. “I hadn’t gotten over you. I still haven’t, William.” 

Spike blinked. Angel had fallen silent. Was he expecting something? Oh. It dawned on him. Angel was waiting to be rejected. His Sire, who had always been confident and sure about everything, especially his hold on his favored Childe, was looking at him with hope and uncertainty. “If you’re waiting for rejection from me, you’ll be waiting for eternity.” 

Startled, Angel gaped at his Childe, unable to think of an appropriate response.

“Oy! Peaches, I followed you for over a century! Do you really think if I was over you that I would have followed you?”

Angel shook his head mutely, then continued. “We’ll discuss that later. Right now, I’m telling you about Doyle.” 

“You were. You sorta stopped.” 

Angel cuffed Spike soundly on the back of the head, amused when the blonde peeked out from under his bangs to make sure he was safe from his Sire’s hand. “Well, like I said. Doyle got me started. And then the Powers that Be interfered with us. I’ll never forgive them. It’s why I don’t always follow their rules…they took Doyle away. If I have to describe the relationship I had with him, Spike, it’s like the one I had with Penn. We were close, but we weren’t emotionally involved. And then he died and it was like half my heart had been ripped away. There was no reason, no explanation given. He was just gone. It felt like one of Drusilla’s disappearances for a long time.”

Spike was silent. He knew what Angel meant by that. Drusilla had a habit of disappearing for months and years at a time when something struck her and she never said a word to anyone about it. 

“It took you showing up here for me to realize that he wasn’t coming back. He died almost a year ago, Spike. And you standing on that roof, so desperate and so ready to throw everything away…I couldn’t stand losing someone else. But especially not you. Doyle…his death, I’ll eventually move past…but I couldn’t handle the idea of watching you turn to dust. So I stopped you. And it’s been the best thing I think I’ve ever done in my life.” 

Feeling himself preen under that, Spike turned Angel’s words back at him. “What about the others?” 

Angel sighed. “Cordelia inherited his visions. She’s dying because she’s not half-demon. And I’m terrified that I’m going to have to watch another person die right in front of me. I’ve done everything I can, sought out all the experts in all the fields I can think of…and nothing works. It looks more and more like she’s going to die in the next couple years. Her body just can’t take the strain.” 

“And Wesley?” 

“Wesley is…was…hard for me. He reminds me so much of you when you were William all the time that it was difficult to have him around for a long time. It’s the biggest reason I didn’t go after him myself to try and help him deal with the problems he was facing. He’s always buried in a book and seems half-afraid to be social. And he sort of looks like you.” Angel stared at Spike’s blonde hair pointedly.

“Oy! You’re the only one who knows it’s not my true color.” 

Angel snorted. “Pretty sure Cordelia knows.” 

“No, she suspects. There’s a big bloody difference.” 

“Whatever you say.”

“Oy!”

Angel grinned, then refocused. “So that was Wesley. Gunn is harder. He’s not like anyone from the old gang. He wants desperately to be accepted but he’s tough and he’s hard because he grew up on the streets. And I knew, Spike…I knew he blamed himself for Doyle’s death and I didn’t do anything do dissuade him. I was hurting too much to care that my friend was hurting. I was glad I wasn’t the only one feeling pain, so I left him to the drinking. I never once told him he should stop, even though I knew if I had voiced my disapproval he would’ve. And maybe things between us wouldn’t be as strained as they are now, maybe I would’ve been a better friend—

“A man can go mad on maybes, Sire,” Spike said, interrupting. “And Gunn is fine. He’s not going to see it as your failure. He doesn’t see it as a failure at all. I made sure of that. Cordelia…you’ll figure out something, you always do. I have complete faith in your ability to do the impossible. As for Wesley…you didn’t sleep with him, did you?” 

Startled, Angel found himself face to face with an unrepentantly grinning blonde. “No, you idiot, I didn’t sleep with him. He may remind me of you, but he’s not you, Spike. I couldn’t…Buffy was the only one I’ve been with since I was with you.”

Spike smiled sadly. “Seems she has that affect on vampires of the Aurelius clan, eh, mate?” 

“Apparently.” 

Sighing, Spike stared off the rooftop for a long moment. “You know, I wouldn’t mind going back to how things were before with us.” 

“Do you mean—

“Yes, Sire, I mean sex. How much of a prude have these humans turned you into? I see I’ve got a lot of work cut out for me.” 

Angel rolled his eyes. “You sure you can handle it?” he asked, amusement turning into genuine anxiety. 

“Oy, Peaches. You’re never getting rid of me.” 

“Don’t promise me that. I might have to hire a hit man.” 

Spike laughed. “Yeah right, like a hit man could get near me.” 

“True,” Angel conceded. “Oh, all right. But I’m not perfect. I will screw up. So will you.”

Rolling his eyes, Spike said, “Aye. That’s life, mate. But it doesn’t matter what happens because I’m back where I’m supposed to be. I’m home again.” 

Angel smiled at that. Yeah, that was it. Home. For the first time in a century, he felt the same. “Welcome home."


End file.
